King of Kings: 1-90
1 A plume of dirt and grime envelops sky;
The hellish slug of gas does creep along.
It casts an orb three hundred stories high
Over the Sun and ends his morning song.
The birds and trees now stand a silent throng,
Before this rumbling mass with lightning veins,
Announcing from its depths un-living Wrong.
The cloud unveils from its ashen rains,
A haunted prow so steered by sinewed mains.
2 Behold! A rotted snout in shattered disrepair,
Reluctant nose of mad, titanic head,
Emerging from primordial earthen air,
The Lizard King returning, dripping red.
That oily blood His putrid skin does shed
Out from the seams ‘tween rotted flesh and flags
That iron wired stitches weakly wed,
An undead Rex in form with skin that sags
From conquered kingly flesh and bannered rags.
3 Revolting stench. It wilts the grassy blades
As He does near, the fields bowing low
Before this Beast in sickly browning shades
He leaves behind a wake that Death did mow
And only offers wretched blood to sow
Those massive drips of blood in rhythmic beat
Do form dark ruby ponds so far below
But kingly blood alone the ground does meet
This monster floats in air, no legs or feet.
4 Above the Rex’s form, a massive wing:
A host of silver zepplins bred for war;
They bear upon their sides a scripted ring
of “DEUS EX MACHINA!” circling core;
On this he hangs suspended from the floor.
Supported by three slabs of giant stone
His body seeping t’ward the dying moor
Devoid of proper structure, missing bone
The makeshift monster slowly glides alone.
5 Protruding ‘long his back in lumpen form
Stand satellite receivers, glossy white
The china saucers cut through ashen storm
And throw back to the sun his hated light
They crave instead the call from Endless Night
Eternal Acheron, the void of space
Where floats the Ferryman in powered kite
They hear his oar disturb as he does race
Across that sea which life and death encase.
6 His vessel only seen among the dark
Imposter laid amidst the noble stars
Revealed by its constant moving mark
For Charon never sleeps, each night he mares
An undisturbéd sky he always bars
That Beast, he makes it so from constant blight
Upon the land, his stooges, kings and czars
They gladly do his bidding claiming right
To speak for God through horrid death and might.
7 The fools, their eyes so blind to monstrous ploy
Mind not for what the King of Kings commands
Who seeks all life outside him to destroy
He only satisfied in wasted lands
His subjects there he lovingly remands
The forests felled, the creatures turned to slaves
To serve the Great Machin’ry’s many hands
The kings and serfs alike would claim He saves
They freed from States of Nature and the Caves.
8 “How good this world be!” They do exclaim.
“My every need be eas’ly met
No fear of violent death that horrid game
I gladly place myself in Rex’s debt
My loyalty upon his feet I set
To vow upon my life to fight for him
His en’mies hated blood I vow to let
Upon the floor, in crimson baths I’ll swim
Eternal servant be, it glad or grim.”
9 Recited by the Monster’s brood this theme
Those men and women housed in flesh are plugged
Into that ghastly Monster’s crimson stream.
His blood they sup, in ecstasy they’re drugged;
So tethered they remain, this tubing lugged.
A bloody feed injected at the spine
It weighing down their necks, the shoulders shrugged
embedded by a vice of angled spikes, this line.
They mind it not, so drowned in pleasure fine.
10 This gift, the beasts convincing drapery
that hides a sickly bride ‘neath ‘lectric veil
Displaying text, it reads “SOCIETY”
It crawling left and leading lettered tail
Across that glowing screen with reddish hale
But disappearing at the Western seam
Returning only at the Eastern rail
This scrolling pendulum’s hypnotic stream
So grips our sated eyes in pleasant dream.
Copyright © Robert Allen | Year Posted 2019