Image of the morning sun through trees


Emperor's Own

Proud and tall The Emperor was,
A grimace of clenched teeth.
World Order his goal, his only cause;
This Empire his to fleece.

He worked and planned, with skill and ease;
A role his father played.
His lords secured, pleasantly pleased;
They're each, allowed their say.

A world to make with much at stake,
His countenance is fierce.
Land and sheep, so much to take;
All new his heart was pierced.

Finger snap, a flick of wrist;
Small kingdoms turned to stone.
Other Lords, milled from grist,
Allied to him alone.

The world is one, all for one;
People, to beck'n call.
Die for this, give your son,
For this, the one for all.

Then there came unruly youth,
Riots in the street;
They'd been betrayed, called uncouth,
The Emperor felt the heat.

His move was sudden, a blink, and grand;
Legions deployed so slick,
Against his own, on his own land;
World order's rule is quick.

Integration of all who work,
Goals for those unfit;
Work camps turned for private perks;
Freedom's lamp unlit.

Every law the Emperor cast,
Each speech, each test, he passed.
Pretended votes, from plebes alas,
Assured his rule would last.

Then comes a day of reckoning,
One Lord displeased with castes;
This Tyrant too was festering;
Revenge for insults past.

A sudden move the Emperor missed,
His arrogance his fall.
The Lord removed the Emperor's crown,
And brought about downfall.

The crown was tossed upon the trash,
So ignorant this caste;
New Emperor bred from this same mass,
Was crowned with great bombast.

All assumed the Emperor,
Returned to his estate,
Would quietly remain interned;
Accepting this, his fate.

For eight long years this Emperor,
Saw fate as just a thread;
Saw all this, a slight error;
He'd lose his crown when dead.

Grooming seeds for governing,
Repeating all great pasts;
Placed his Lords strategically'
Chess master at his task.

The silly Pleb, the masses' mask,
Too soon became the joke;
Emperor's crown, tarnished fast,
The Tyrant Lord the hoax.

The Emperor raised his own war-chest,
Liquidated all;
He would return by playing chess,
His seed thus standing tall.

His Lords were placed, most everywhere,
Where what matters counts.
The Tyrant Lord, reduced by years,
His war-chest still as stout.

The poser King, reduced by lusts
Encountered many a trial.
The Tyrant Lord could only fuss;
The Emperor's Lords did smile.

The Emperor had raised his seeds,
Not one but two or three.
With one to crown, that's all he needs,
Returns triumphantly.

The masses and the Tyrant Lord,
The scribes and too the Priests,
All failed to see the Master's chore,
Each blinded by their feasts.

So quietly, diligently,
The Emperor did spin;
His web of thread, patiently;
His hand upon his chin.

One more battle, planned with stealth,
He lived for this of all.
Matching coin with Tyrant's wealth,
The poser King would fall.

The people think they vote through this,
Democracy a sham.
Bigot scribes through ignorance,
Give themselves a hand.

All government is Monarchy,
No matter what it's called.
The choice would be just anarchy,
Each time an Emperor falls.

Upon its own territory,
All governments make war.
Masses vote, they cannot see,
The Emperor and his chore.

Throughout the past it's been the same,
In this, all's in accord;
Emperor's sons, they stake their claim;
Country Boss and Tyrant Lord.

And life goes on, with Emperor's Own,
Ruling all that's known.
Emperor's Own, on Father's throne.
His shadow not his Own.

-Hulet