Deneb Kingdom

Deneb Kingdom

There was an artist
Held captive in a castle
Hidden away from the people
High above the next-tallest tower

He wrote and drew
The things he knew
Converted his experience
Into wondrous art

His captor took this art
With no hand to its part
Publishing it as her own
Making her very well-known

One day the artist
Looked out at the sky
With most forlorn eyes
With no malicious guise

He yelled

“Is this suffering enough for you?”
“That which I once only knew?”
“You’re the one who showed me bright lights,”
“The one who opened dead eyes.”

“I once called you my love,”
“That was gorgeous as a dove.”
“You know these things I inscribe”
“Will not stop me from thinking!”

Yet he drew, and he did
Inscribed the words he did
Still captive far away
Held away from all the others

His captor continued to
Make a profit
From the man
She thought she knew

One night midnight struck
With no change in his luck
Castle ghosts appeared on walls
Past fragments not yet absolved

“Is our suffering enough for you?”
“We’re the ones you used up who”
“Would only like to see you,”
“Would only want to feel you.”

“We’ve haunted these abandoned halls,”
“Wearing medals and torn up shawls”
“Waiting for arrival”
“For you there is no trial.”

All these
Medals and pictures
And symbols and trinkets
Appeared to the man

A fake dresser
With the best of
The frames from
All over the land

Stocked with families
And gatherings and
Pivotal histories, and they all
Talked to the man,

Who yelled once and for all

“Is this suffering enough for you?”
“You all who watched and knew?”
“This plight I’ve been going through”
“Has not made for a spectacle.”

“I’ve been to hell and back for you,”
“Seen heaven and left it askew.”
“The ghosts that haunt me now,”
“Are the angels disavowed.”

Looking out
From his window
With earthly possessions
Adorning the room

On his easel was an
Unfinished painting
At his lectern was a
Work in progress writing

The orange earth
Sprawled from the castle
And he in the tower
Who watched the seasons change

Was comforted by
Those who watched
The stones crack
And the moss grow

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