Peasant King

Don’t

go to the king’s house

despite your cravings

Sure

There are no mouses

or spiders

You will be bitten

by reminders

of opulence

and splendor

A finger on the wall

will speak

asking what you have done

with the hands

that you were dealt

whilst the butlers come serving

some balms for your scalds

But have no remedies

for the scars

of memories

you can’t shake off

The perennial pain

you nurture alone

Now

you can shake

the hands of time

as well as

those of the escorts

It is

only

the hands of

the green-eyed monster

that’s glued

to the creases

on your palms

Your palm never lies

No

The flexions of a king

never lies

6 thoughts on “Peasant King

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