Sunday, 9 June 2013

Emperor by Nick Owen (second draft)

Just a sketch
Guidelines for street art
A welcome for the Spanish Governor

And the most compelling object in this old museum

These are the lines of battle                                 
Lines of sorrow
And defeat

No face has endured more

His eyes
Look back into his soul
Look outward in fear

His will to power holds him hanging by a thread

His lips
Set firm
Are yet resigned to what must come

The crown sits awkwardly
Tipping backward from his forehead
Ready to fall

He knows nothing of surrender to the Self

He holds high his sceptre
An almost empty threat
A sword without an edge

He will never know the peace of letting go

His body bent
Right foot inching forward
His head torn sideways

Death distracts him from left field
Armour and authority
Hold no sway with this assailant

The orb, the world
Held in his hand
Is eaten by shadows

His liver is all shadow
This wounded King knows
Nothing of the grail

His inner world
His outer world
A wasteland

Only fear
And an ego of steel
A habit of rulership

Fight off the darkness

He needs to feed on the world he mastered
Draw its mother milk to his embrace
No sustenance comes

Soon he will be food for worms

Despite his conquests in this world and time
He must return again to dust and slime

For in this portrait we can clearly see
He found no moment in eternity.

©Nick Owen 2013

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