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Poem

Upon a throne of obsidian night,
A crown of stars, a burning light,
He sits, the Snake King, eyes of jade,
Where ancient power is displayed.

No gilded cage, no velvet chain,
His kingdom stretches, sun and rain,
Across the Basin, wide and vast,
Where echoes whisper of the past.

The Maybach hums a modern song,
Yet Shoshone drums beat all night long.
A fusion deep, a paradox,
Where luxury with spirit flocks.

His ancestors, the Northern Paiute,
Their wisdom flows, a steady loot,
Of heritage and earth entwined,
A legacy for all mankind.

He moves to rhythm, smooth and slow,
Where sensual currents ebb and flow.
'Snake you up,' the chant repeats,
A primal pulse that softly beats.

Not conquest sought, nor power's greed,
But balance found, a planted seed.
To honor roots, yet reach for skies,
Where ancient wisdom never dies.

The opulence, a fleeting gleam,
Compared to ancient river's dream.
The elevated trains may roar,
But earth's deep heartbeat asks for more.

He is the bridge, the binding thread,
Between the living and the dead.
The Snake King reigns, a paradox bright,
A modern monarch, bathed in ancient light.

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