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Titillations of a Tyrant

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  • Titillations of a Tyrant

    Men will shout my name,
    if only to curse it,
    from christened pillars,
    or the crimson pile.

    For,
    the weak bemoan tyrants
    even as they
    bend low before them.
    And the meek
    more often choose servitude,
    to the dignity of death.
    Their grand intentions
    abandoned
    at the mere prospect of peril.
    Their knock-knees
    dampening the drums of war.

    For most men
    come into this world squealing.
    Snatched from the womb.
    Content to linger.
    Then shuffle
    mute
    to the tomb.

    But lay me
    far from the weeping damsels,
    when pride
    ceases to raise my head,
    find mine enemies
    yet prone to tremble,
    and from their quivering lips,
    may it be said:
    Blow the shofar,
    let your cymbals rattle.
    For hope
    and happenstance have wed.
    Shall we, at last,
    sheath our swords from battle?
    Tell me,
    is the bastard really dead?



  • #2
    Red Carpeted
    Power still stands.
    When tyrants die
    straightway tyranny
    turns to other hands.

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    • #3
      True.

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      • #4
        What an epic diction strides here. That opening stanza - strewth, what a fine figure it cuts! ... from christened pillars, / or the crimson pile ... Zesta!

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        • #5
          The King is dead! Long live the King! vs the tyranny of the masses. Which is worse? A wonderful read, DWAYNE, and a wonderful speech when read aloud.

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