Mired in satire, the king knows not
he is missing his crown, blind and bound
as in crying foul he kneels down
to frivolty and lesser gods;

Through angry accusation squanders
authority and, confused, wanders
in the ghostlands where he seeks to hide
from all the ghastly demons screaming.

They clamor for their day in the sun,
condemned by him again to shadow.
They subside so long as he remains
entrenched in casting blame couched as mere

Commentary. Like dissentery
it runs, something off in the gut. He,
stuck in a rut, fails to see this news
is no more fit to print and stems from

Falsity, energetic imprint
that is but a residue that so
thinly veils all that lies within him.
Fear is the liar that tells him

He must escape that which he rejects;
yet when the heart is made clean, he sees
what he has not brought forth holds the key
and all those things that keep him spinning

Offer peace of a new beginning.
When loved back to life in light of grace
and flowing waters of forgiveness,
they put an end to long suffering;

Help him hold these precious little ones
who have come that he, too, might yet live.
No more fueled by need to pick a fight,
he finds a world beyond wrong and right.

This is the seed of good news held there
in the circle of the miscreants
who chide, direct him toward edge of sense
before ego comes back with nonsense

And he is lost again in satire.
The irony is how she knows, way
she sees how close he is to free but, 
lost in pathos, loses comedy.

She too falls down and tumbles after,
forgetting happy ever after
in favor of walking up a hill
or singing alone somewhere forlorn.

She is wont to see the crown that grows
a thorn and life as blood, sweat and tears
and too many years of desert dreams.
Her heart believes, but now it all seems

That the joke rings hollow as the tone
that echoes through the ages to call
them both back from the edge, back into
infinity and beyond, laughing

Like children who meet on the playground,
having gone around and back around,
to join hands as if nothing ever
took them down dead-end roads to see that

They don't fit a category. This
scares them both but when they enter in
and sup with him they will discover
new worlds. Come on over, red rover.

The train whistle has sounded and we,
on our way to friendly neighborhood,
can taste the glory of the moment
when all shall be revealed and we healed.