From here I can look
all around
and survey my empire.
There, the distant hills gilded
in silver mist and emerald leaves
humble my own royal robes.
And here, the servants at my feet…
Young. Nubile. Fertile.
Mine to pluck like ripe fruit,
or slaughter as tender lambs.
My bride’s perfume is pleasant.
The eyes of my court are hard.
The halls of my palace
hold whispers of secrets and dreams.
My gardens host ghosts in the moonlight.
They tell me to be at peace,
take comfort,
sleep.
My borders do not
boil with rebellion,
and there is
no alarm of armies
at my gates.
I stand at the pinnacle of
all my achievements,
and realize that as I watch
the setting sun,
there is a smile
in the darkness of my grave
that
patiently waits…
Beyond Panic 