The Kingdom I Ruled as a Child
A glorious land,
Created by providence,
For children,
And the young at heart,
And I was its king.
Every morning,
I’d awake in my castle,
A lighthouse of brick that pierced the clouds,
I’d don my rainbow crown,
And stroll through the lands I ruled,
The capital city,
Downtown bathed in neon,
Patrolled by comic book superheroes,
Who battled comic book supervillains.
Clad in rainbow colorful costumes,
The supers raced through the skies,
Leapt over soaring skyscrapers,
And traversed labyrinthine sewers,
A metropolis of Gods and Monsters.
Into the suburbs,
Where the cartoons lived,
Wisecracking animals,
Exchanging knock-knock jokes,
Wild antics,
Full of pratfalls,
And explosions.
Cartoon characters don’t like to take it easy.
They live fast and hard.
On the outskirts,
A dense prehistoric jungle,
Infested with dinosaurs.
Moving mountains of flesh and bone,
Titanic beasts stalking the land,
Their vicious roars shaking the earth,
As they hunted,
Fought,
And lived,
In all their beauty and horror.
The castle in the desert,
Where the old wizard lived.
He wowed me with mystical feats,
Turning himself invisible,
Turning water to Hawaiian Punch,
Shrinking to the size of a mouse.
He had a magic paintbrush,
And used it to bring to life,
The strangest creatures,
His mind could conjure;
Tiny balls of fluff that cooed in your arms,
Long-necked rodents that spoke in rhymes,
Cats that juggled,
And argued with fishes.
He was a God in my young eyes.
The dragons in the sky above his castle,
Brothers,
Who fought each other in mortal combat,
Since the day they were born.
A pair of giant leathery bodies,
Twisting,
Snapping,
Clawing,
And writhing in the clouds,
A brutal ballet.
Bloodshed never looked more elegant.
The kingdom remains,
But much has changed.
The old wizard has disappeared,
As have his strange creations,
His castle was bought by a British man named Dan,
Nice enough guy,
Wants to turn the place into a school.
The dragons are dead.
One of them finally killed the other,
The victor died of grief.
The dinosaurs are still alive,
Thank god,
But they’re older now,
Tired,
Lethargic,
Their roars aren’t as powerful as they once were,
Their steps no longer shake the earth,
Mostly they just rest,
I visit them every day,
Hospice for prehistoric reptiles.
The cartoons and the supers also remain,
But I can see them changing,
Their antics and deeds no longer greeted with fanfare,
Their high jinks and crusades becoming tired,
And worn out.
Faded ink,
Their golden age wanes.
This is not the land I ruled,
Did it change because I got older?
Did it change because all good things must die?
Both?
Regardless,
I mourn for my kingdom.
I pray for the future child monarchs,
If the land must change,
At least let it change into something,
That makes the new rulers happy.
