Plateaued on a boneless trail,
Filled with shell-less chicks,
Where beakless chickens,
Confined for the sake of procreation.

Since the land we torched,
Was already barren and dry,
Bar the anointed books,
Bartered, for an illiterate prince.

As for the last prayer,
Of the long-awaited dawn,
Stalled, for a king’s decree,
To build his castle on the bones,

Of those who swore fealty.

© All Rights Reserved