Soft Breed

He who bows to kings and clowns

once a man amongst plain and homely fellows

he who led a rebellion, and alas, beleaguered

in the belly of the beast. his plight dust bent

he rises high amongst Lords; a renegade 

covered is his face with soft pigments

a masquerade to climb the gold ladder

Lo! once a peasant, now a prominent gentry 

tall and lanky with costly jewels  

taking the lead, in a blind procession,

it's a conglomeration of nude spirits,

the mass he formed, those who

beneath the sunbeam search, yearning

for the universe to bend beneath a man's

dominance, O this ascendancy of the dunce!

who seek to exercise power in an oppressive way

their breaths so heavy amid the vast atmosphere

their deadly orisons steal over the firmament, 

it's dark, the sun flies from such malfeasance

God withdraws further into clouds, he goes...

and at the toll of the last bells,

there awaken a softened breed, a leaf-litter

rent in spirit and bound to treason

how it bows with glory and pride

to the same quisling who sold the land

to gain currency and expansion of his own purse

they hold his name high and eat the morsel 

that falls timely from his capacious table 

this is a breed birthed from wet money

losing every sense of time to escalating crises 

this soft breed is cold, fed straight away 

with glitter; so, it glows even amidst a quagmire

can they tell how it rends; the pain in their chests