Aetheling

PART I

Upon cobblestone steps a dark-haired child sits alone.

The only place he finds solace from the wrathful and avaricious claws at home

But as his confidant approaches gravely and with a solemn stare,

The dark haired prince arises, he must return to the serpentine crest he bares.

Walking the palace stairs the eyes of countrymen drag him deeper, he soon will drown.

The burden of foreboding is a stone to carry, to the king the proles are bound.

Will the prince be caught in the crossfire of the king’s appetite for conquest and the kingdom’s pain?

After all, retribution against autocrats never leaves the throne unstained.

His brother greets him softly, return to kingdom come.

Their past of fraternal competition weathered in the straits of blood.

The scourge of confrontation, discord fills the air,

The lion rears his head and takes his place at his chair.

Around the table

There is a silence

The king unflinching

His eyes they scan,

His sons in waiting

Intentions bare

The roars get louder

The doors they creak

And finally, the gates to the castle are torn from the walls on which they hang. The countrymen come racing, they demand a lion slain. The dark haired prince retires to his bedroom unhappy and alone. His brother grabs protection and prepares to watch the throne. His father’s soldiers awaiting the advance of curdling desire. The peasants reap the castle halls of each indulgent whim the king has followed. The castle approaches ruins, the ruined reap the damned, the damned they damned the kingdom and now the kingdom makes their needs demands. The lion becomes meat as the tyrant is flayed. But the power of crown outlives the power of the grave.

PART II

“Oh, I do believe it was far past my father’s peak as ruler in Babel anyway,” said the brother as he placed the gold spires on his head.

After his father’s corpse was on a lance, the soldiers rushed the castle freshly painted red in the new king’s stead.

“And I know I’ll be better, so much better than that fool,” just as every prideful son proclaims.

From his first day upon the throne the new lion made it clear that he wouldn’t leave meat on the bones.

And the dark-haired prince stayed on cobblestone steps far from the throne, he knows appetite is a genetic trait.

And satiating royalty is the hardest job to work, yet the winemakers and prostitutes were never late.

“Brother, I plead you stop before in your hunger you eat your own hands.”

But why would a king listen to a prince?

Before long the brother began fraternizing with their neighbor Gomorrah in the east.

The tiger in Gomorrah brought to Babel another ravenous beast.

And the dark-haired prince did what he could to deliver the kingdom he loved something good

He used his influence to try to sow in what his brother had reaped again and again but it was never enough.

There was a stirring in the kingdom as the claws encroached on more and more.

And the lion filled his castle with riches to the point it was revolting and filled the battlefields with gore.

The peasants had no chance at revolution now that two beasts were on the throne.

The dark-haired prince knew he had no other choice but to take things into his own hands.

He knew though that if he did what he had to his fate would soon be the same.

So he arrived upon the steps of a cathedral to ask for guidance and forgiveness, the lion must be tamed.

As he climbed the marble steps to receive word from the friar, he hung his head in despair.

The friar was unsympathetic to the lion and prayed for blessings upon blessings to the prince.

The dark haired prince began his journey home, his heart weighed down with every step closer to the throne.

He crept in his brother’s bedroom and witnessed him laying in his cavern of troves and whores, from a lit candle, the prince’s dagger was shone.

He wept and believed he could not do it but his brother woke and began to speak, his eloquent locution reflecting his profligacy.

And as the dark-haired prince realized the chimera his brother had grown to be, the boy talked to the beast. And they said:

PART III

“Brother, have you come

To usurp what I have won?

This kingdom is mine.”

“Babel belongs to

Those that bring it good health and

Return its gifts twice.”

“What gifts have I got?

A corpse for a father and

A brother who plots?”

“What brother have I?

A murderer and thief.

Yet, you cry of pain.”

“The pain I have is

Nothing compared to what you

Are about to do.”

“I only do this

Because you have forced my hand.

Mine and the people’s.”

“What hands do you share

After my death? Soon it will

Be your head you fool.”

“A head for a head.

A small consolation for

The heads you have got.”

“The heads that are mine

Are what brought us our glory.

What honor have you?”

“None but the honor

I have in things I have done.

Can you say the same?”

“Tell me now brother,

When your head is in the crown

Will it be any good?

“No, tell me brother,

How does the blade taste now?

Is it sweet enough?”

“I wish you good luck.

Ruling is not as easy

As the peasants think.”

“I wish you luck too.

I hope god weighs not the lives

You took but the gold.”

“Can you not wish me

Something well before I pass?

Death is cold alone.”

“I wish that in hell

We are placed close enough that

I can hold your hand.”

“Be optimistic.

Hell is not for optimists.

Your rule could be great.”

“I am not a fool.

The nature of kings is to

Perish as a slime.”

“Be wary of this,

The tiger in the east is

Hungrier than I.”

“Farewell my brother,

If things had been different

This blade be not mine”

“Farewell to you too.

But, the crown outlives the grave.

No matter the corpse.”

Part IV

When the lion had been slain, the dark haired king rested sadly on his throne.

And all his subjects rejoiced for they knew not the toll it had on him.

Rage overtook the tiger in the east as the lion had been the greatest aid to his conquest.

Inside the kingdom war was brewing, despite the dark-haired king’s protests.

Soon, the land would be reaped of the peace he had longed for.

The tiger began pillaging town by town setting fire to each village, killing women and children.

His thirst for blood remained unquenchable, and the bodies filled the streets of Babel.

Even as the king’s forces fought back with all their might, all it brought was bodies.

For every soldier there was a family begging for their father back.

Or there was a scared son that would never get to become one.

Every day the dark-haired king wept for the streets that ran more scarlet each day.

Only a beast could approve of the havoc that war brings, only a demon could benefit.

From a tower high above the carnage the tiger ate until his stomach lining split and bathed in milk.

Meanwhile the numbers of Babel and Gomorrah dwindled and those living buried their family.

Any riches acquired were brought to the tiger’s cavern of wonders where they did nothing but sit.

Not a single good thing came of this butchery and the people were too divided to overthrow the tiger

All of the tiger’s servants despised him and prayed for a plague of rot to purge the throne of decay.

Nothing happened though, the tiger continued to eat and kill.

Days upon days, nothing could be seen through the screen of slaughter

Generations wiped out at the hands of self-indulgence.

Reparations for the killings must be had.

Everyone in the kingdom agreed that something must be done about the terrible war.

Eventually the dark-haired king stepped forward with a solution.

Declaring that there would only be one more death and calling the King of Gomorrah to a duel.

Malice crept upon the tiger’s face as he received word of the dark-haired king’s call.

An opportunity to place the dark-haired king’s head in his chamber of treasures was irrefusable.

King of Gomorrah against King of Babel

Each fighting for completely different desires.

Soon an end to this great carnage would be seen.

When the day of the duel was upon them

All the peasants crowded around the battlefield to watch

Rejoicing at the hope of the final death.

Part V

The grass glittered green on the day that death hung above the dark-haired king’s head.

He was not surprised because he knew that nature wavers not at the folly of men.

The king of Gomorrah stood under the great drawling sky and in the west was the dark-haired boy.

Often in times of chaos the boy would meditate on the days he was young when the alternative to conflict was running.

But as his dark hair greyed he came to realize that the sprawl of life creates such a distance that running is no longer an option.

The dark-haired king knew the outcome of this fight since the day he issued the decree.

Yet, he followed through with it and never considered going back on his decision.

He believed if there was one thing he owed to the world it was to not act as though his death would be a surprise.

The acceptance of death is one of the shortcomings of age or humility he told himself.

He reminded himself of the days when he was a child and played war with his brother and thought of the lighthearted tussles he had that always had the undertone of serious pressure to display a winner.

Each boy would count the amount of times they won, trying to amass more than the other.

The breeze blew softly through his helmet as he walked upon the battlefield.

As the soft air caressed his face through his helmet he knew that in a way, trying to prolong his peace was his own form of indulgence.

But what makes indulgence more malicious than another?

He had hoped as a child to find the most medium solution in every situation.

A child crept on the battlefield and the tiger cradled it in his arms smiling brightly at it.

The king of Babel wondered what tribulations that child would grow to face, what indulgences it would fall prey to.

He knew when he was thinking of that boy that the struggles of himself mattered almost not at all.

But he smiled into the sky thinking that maybe in his death that boy would not have to worry about a battle to fight.

As both kings finally faced each other the dark-haired king could not think of the medium solution here.

He could think only of what he knew was the most right thing he could do right there.

As he laid in the grass and felt the air around him grow cold he thought one last time of the cobblestone steps of his youth and beamed at the thought that they would once again be clean.

As he stepped into the expanding tunnel of light his tongue began to move

And when he looked up he wept

And as he wept he spoke

Part VI

Dear God,

I weep not for myself but I weep for the tragedy I brought upon the world.

I weep for the life I led with the hope that maybe if I had been better I would have caused less suffering.

As I feel the deep blue flow through me I know that men only die when they must.

But oh, how my heart aches so!

I am not a man, I am a wretch!

I am to blame for the carnage in the kingdom I loved so much!

The crown outlives the grave but greed outlives all does it not?

No, no

I would be a fool to say so.

I can say for sure that despite my shortcomings and the deaths at my hands

I can say that the nature of man is not an evil one.

I can say that evil exists in the world and it runs among the streets so freely.

I was once a boy but now that I am a man and my mistakes caught up to me I can say

It is an endless war that it is the condition of man to fight

A man is who he is when staring down the muzzle of greed.

A man is what he does when the throes of vice are wrapping their tendrils around his calves.

A man is whether he fights his way out of the briars and vines of evil knowing of the gashes he will receive.

A man is who he is when he has the power to choose

And in this way we are all kings.