A poem in four acts
I hear the crowd cheering in the distance.
“Today we feast!”
“Long live the King!”
But, in the midst of these joyful acclamations,
In the midst of the dancing and celebration,
A cloud of dust begins to rise in the horizon.
The screams of the innocent sting my ears.
The smell of burning buildings,
The smell of burning dreams,
The sight of freshly made orphans running
So I hide.
I hide and await the sound of retreating horses.
I slip from consciousness
In the roadside brush.
I awake to darkness,
Slowly, I make my way to the city.
The stench of burning lives
Fills my nostrils more and more
The closer I come.
I stand and look out at the devastation,
Dead, but with heart beating.
From somewhere beyond, I hear myself whisper:
“God rest the King.”