Poetry on Medium
The King Will Ride
Free verse
This year the sun is an April fool they say
with his hot breath searing the violets
from their dewy carpets forgetting his strength…
he bumbles this way and that, bounces too bold
and boisterous from day to day, unthinking
Midas touch his gold turns green to dead, and blue
to mud and mud to starvation cracks like the
world got too old to live any more … curious
as a child he moves too close to the ice caps,
scowls as his drink doesn’t clink, lights up to a
laugh to see the bright flashes as the trees go
out like candles, the earth his birthday cake, and
we will sing with cries, and harsh voice too hot for
tears, too dry and dull to ask for help, our novelty
worn off, and he is yet young — pours water, splashes
blows and yells, stomps his feet, he has no need of us…
we blame this bairn — a brat, but it is not
he who wheels away or slopes off to the west
it was always us as turned our backs and span
with righteous blindness, covering our…
