Kingdoms would go to war,
For power, love, peace and security.
The image of a king was necessary,
To keep a stable monarchy.
At the coronation of a king,
With joy the maidens would sing;
But in the chaos of a tragedy,
The trumpets would sound, high upon a mound:
The king is dead. Long live the king!
As the world aged, politics took precedent over love.
Modern kings rose out of ordinary men,
Monarchy queens hold rule on their own.
Mourning now customary;
Immediate re-marriage no longer a necessity;
The ability to contemplate the past and the loss,
The future calculated and not left to a toss;
But the bachelor-predators pound,
Before dirt could cover the corpse in the ground:
The king is dead. But, long live...the eligible queen!
They say the dead are at peace;
But even the dead can be haunted by the living!
However, any day come now
The haunting will cease;
For it is but a symbolic death;
The catalyst for the process of resurrection and rebirth -
Of transformation into the twice born.
For the king lives... eternally!
Em hotep.
Written by Golden Gnome
Copyright 2009. All rights reserved.
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