the King of Imposters
must take into account
the calculated risk of his expression
because bound to acclamation is accusation
from the faceless, thoughtless jackal
spews the banter of the bandwagon
misnomer, fake assumptions
resistance is a stranglehold
the crime is the attempted murder of my indentity
...an invasion of privacy
in the twilight he rested
the poet scribbling sonnets of admiration
for the object of his affection
cautious, innocent words
a naive man, the attack was unexpected
when they kicked in his door and seized his pen
the Stereotype Patrol, they bludgeon the poet
with his own copy of Leaves of Grass
bathed in moonlight, the procession paraded him through the streets
locked him in a cage, unconscious, left to the mercy of the night
he awoke to find himself in the colesseum
the passing people spoke in tongues sharp as axes
for hours, unrelenting, the poet exposed to their steel gazes and vicious words
as darkness approached the town fell silent
again left alone to wither away, the poet instead is delighted
emerging from unknown origins, the Detective uses the skeleton key and releases the prisoner
but all is not well in the transforming night
as the Detective peels away his mask to show a bandit in disguise
he removes the poet's shirt and proceeds to remove his heart
before slinking away into the folds of the night
morning arrives and takes no notice of the victim
trampled under foot, the poet gasps for life
but is soon grasped by the hands of a stranger
the princess, she injects her words into his chest
and a new heart blossoms
with it, a new future is born
the poets recovers and regains his verse
composing his masterpiece for the saint in the city
persecuted for possessing a gift
projecting dreams with mere words
he now celebrates in the arms of his savior
almost a martyr, he is now the victor...
they mock my passion with foolish words
surrender is suicide
but i will not die |
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