Poem: I Do Not Want To Be Here

The Wandering Feet

image courtesy twitter.com

I was a king

I lived a life of gold

I was a servant

Living a life of servitude

An eternal gratitude to men who still saw me as king,

I am a son of the sun

Who the gods saw fit to give skin to drink in and not be sick


Its glory

My life was meaningful


It bettered my people

So I really do not want to be here.

We saw you

At the edge of the world

As pale as beaten tree bark

And hands so soft

We wondered whether you ever worked a day in your life

The mosquito belittled your divine status

Even as you frothed at the lips clasping a thing with leaves

And a god

You said was the only one.

My people rescued you from death

But you take their names from them

And give them yours

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