Black Box

The King and the Usurper

For the asking of all

I have been consigned to its loss,

By the cruel king enshrined in throne of thoughts.

To watching from a distance I can never cross

as the castle of my contentment is sieged

and the the collapsing rickety bridges I hastily propped

with my begging and prayers

collapse from innocuous time and neglect.

Watching the battle,

the king and usurper do not duel.

Instead sending my children to the slaughter to prolong

their own rule.

I was meant to be the hand of guidance for this land

but within my salt circle I am always constrained.

So the ground drinks the life of my friends

while I watch it be painted and anguish uselessly,

begging 'be gentle' of the soul bearing wind.

Running in place through shifting landscape

I catch the girl's eyes

with no tongue she still tells me I am on the wrong side.

She thinks she would be queen of the stronghold of peace.

Neither have ever believed me of the crumpling weight of the sky,

that they cannot save us through sheer will alone.

And while the war drags on

the walls begin their buckling collapse.

cyclical city's consistent inconsistency

citizenry's lost fear and lost empathy

now only watch and wait to count casualties.