The Sword of Gale

I am the axiomatic master of my fate; the King of Maxim state. I sit on a throne of axions, maintaining discrete time symmetry to keep my line in place. With ordained and sovereign rule, I rise to the dominion of my life’s decisions; even when they do not translate to my intentions. Blazon insignias are inscribed by my position. Posed by social status and affluence, alongside it a physical constitution. Each of us having idiosyncrasies by means of paradox. As if to say I'm right handed and made of left handed particles, with momentum opposite to intrinsic spin. By what parity could this arise? Alas a vast enigma, derived by the perceptions of body soul and mind. At ease and at odds to forego and prevail. In concert of my peers, I will unsheathe the Magnus Opus and uncover the vale. The ignorance of our own empowerment that I overtly forswear, and so goes on the allegorical tale. It’s given narrative defeated, torn to tatters by The Sword of Gale.