Legacy
A delusioned dictator commands the forest,
Weathered and hollowed and halved.
The rain-streaked stump demands a chorus;
Chants of arboresque spirits create his raft.
All his roots touched lay similarly gray,
Brought as his entourage to the Styx,
A circle of death avoided by even the Fae;
Such is the constitution of his empire’s bricks.
I scaled the late emperor’s towering pillar,
Found his promised land empty and sick.
For the core of his heart lacked any filler,
Except for a scuttling nest of ticks.
