Bow Down

A WNW Poem

He climbed up the spines

of servants,

court members,

confidants,

spies,

friends,

knights,

to reach and take

what was his,

as it was prophesied,

not promised.

The farther he climbed,

the farther he was from

who the glory should have gone to.

The gods saw the impending shift

and intervened.

His soft skin

wrinkled by the scowl that was sewn into his face,

his black hair wrenched back from his forehead

from hours and hours of his hands raking

his hair in his war room,

contemplating whose death

carried the most weight.

His ambition

was no longer an asset,

but an abscess,

boiling in his soul,

festering,

cutting teeth on his humanity,

consuming more and more of him

night

after

night.

Dreams were torture,

and the prince

would twist and turn

until finally,

his body could not hold back

the monster.

His ribs unbuckled,

letting loose

a black wolf

who would be cursed to

serve the Heavens

as a priest,

singing prayers,

and offering prey

for blessings,

his spine always bowed

to the gods.

The sun will set

in the throne

of broken swords

and new stars.

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The Word Not World Series (WNW) is an interactive anthology where, once a week, I share a photo and peers give me words that inspired them. The requests are listed below:

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“Ambition,” was from Rachel Writes Fiction

“Reach” was from Brenda on FB.

“Impending” was from Tara on FB.

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Artwork by 02PNG.

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