Four rings

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A lord rules, upon throne, upon gold, upon knowing.

Four rings sit, upon fingers, upon doing, upon lord.

A finger for power, grip, prying and doing, for warring.

A finger for authority, wanting, achieving, for pillaging.

A finger for duty, something to ignore and pass off.

And, at last, a finger for wit and speech, values he claims possession of.

On the one finger where a ring should lay, there is nothing.

It is barren.

For a ring on that finger is love, commitment, adoration, of a personal variety.

And there is no space for that in a blackened and shriveled heart.



(It's been a while, sorry about that if it matters to anyone. I've got no reason, I merely lost interest in thinking.)

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