A Contemplation of Power

If the legions bowed

at my feet

and claimed me as both

queen

and mother,

if divisions collapsed inwards

under their own weight

and left only

grasping hands

free from artifice

and caged by helplessness,

if the world stood silent

at the sound

of my breathing

and declared me

the One,

if this happened, all would be lost.

The tides would retreat

into the deep,

leaving the world dry,

and only I

could quench thirst.

Weapons would lose their edge,

and tools their utility.

Under my rein, the fruits of labor

would blossom without toil,

and the people would starve

for want of creativity.

And all the while,

resentment would pass

no living lips.

My ego would allow no

insults or criticisms,

and the wise would learn

to love me.

Love itself would lose meaning,

lose function.

And I would lose function with it,

trapped under my own importance,

my own omnipotence.

To be a god in the old ways,

untouchable,

but still knowable,

would drive me from my senses,

and leave the world empty of consequences

and me alone and corrupted, absolutely.