Pause

the coward in a kingdom gives me pause
when he has risen far beyond his gifts.
no merits paved the way to his assent.
In fact, no moistened bint or wat’ry tart,
had agency upon him to bestow
Excalibur, or some lobbed scimitar.

somehow the masses’ mandate lay a crown
upon a brow so furrowed with the blight
of age, indifference, and malevolence,
democracy befouled itself and hid
in closets housing only daily dread.
Imagine then a boot upon a face,
Not stomping because doing so was just,
but just because the leader said it must.