A KING

A KlNG

The crown he gathered from the ground
Snapped in his hand; ambition waits.
It was a trap with slender fangs,
With teeth he took for metal spikes,
Set on a simple metal base.
He could not wait to leave the woods,
And ran but could not shake the crown,
Red with the gush and plush of blood.

Reviews

[Red Brick Keshner]

Amazing powerful poem! It is both thrilling and scary at the same time, like the horror movies we watched as kids, peeking through the gaps in our fingers that cover our eyes. Often we run away and can't shake off what is upon our heads. The last line is reminiscent of the crown of thorns as well, should the imagination go that way. Thanks for sharing. Frederick.

[John]

Thanks v much for your response. I'm glad you enjoyed and found the poem stimulating. A crown of thorns is not something I envisaged when writing but certainly is a perfectly reasonable association to make.