As the bell tolled, resounding, it also told,
of the death of the fallen Hero. His last
quotidian day on earth and the detritus
of memories that light up the contemptuous
sorrow. The coward vacillates his gamble, yet
the Hero dies. His folie à deux: chasing freedom
and some feebled belief in an unanswering god.
We never know what nightmares lie curled
beneath comfort’s pillow. Killing in
the name of freedom with such
heinous acts and calling this
liberation is an alternative reality.
Conquering the weak only represses
the hold on the masses. Kings are not
mortal; they rule by necessity and
greed. A whipped horse obeys, yet
his eyes never forget the rack of
punishment he's endured. Revolt
will come, and then all kings will
bow unto the subservient soldier.
Chronology isn't kind to despots,
kings, queens, and czars; let it be
written for the common man
that no tyrant will ever control
the world.
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