two kings, simple and nexused
behemothed with thoughts the critics don’t know
with tears ablue which only pillars see
who can trod those footsteps of stone?
Behold them conference.
One has clauses for the other.
the other his soil-rich ears.
and then they part
lonely and full of troops and kin.
See one laugh a moment, then sigh — it was not a hearty sound.
Listen to the other whisper fragments to his shield.
the aide which accompanies the soul of each monarch, solemner still than the masters they shadow.
What can be said of those who command the destinies of nations?
They wear a small planet on the back, if you must know.
The satchel on their girdle of darkest lodestar and led, that is if they care at all.
But what if they do not?
What if their hearts have swum to different galaxies far far away?
Then kings indeed make wonderful monsters.
and then we must tremble.