CHILD'S PLAY IN THE SHADOW OF THE SUN
III
The Emperor
Although just a child
I stood
still
at my mother’s side
in the sun saturated compound
for the emperor’s men
to count our heads
as they did every day
two times a day at first
then after awhile just once
at six in the afternoon
rain or shine
but the sun always
beat on our heads
while our keepers counted
and recounted
in the service of
the emperor of the blood red sun.
We did not.
Although just a child
I sailed
away
at my mother’s side
from the sun stained shore
where the emperor’s men
lost their heads
to empirical ecstasy
and then lost face
when the rising sun set
on conquered graves
casting buried shadows
across
the emperor of the blood stained sun
and set
us free
to find tomorrow...
but we had lost
yesterday.
Although no more a child
I listened
helpless
to my mother’s dreams
of joy destroyed
by the emperor’s men
of hope crushed
by the emperor’s men
of love maimed
by the emperor’s men
of the abyss founded
by the emperor’s men...
to my mother’s dreams
that rose with the rising sun
and haunted
her days and nights,
her spirit captive yet
to the emperor of the bloodied sun...
dreams that whisper about
the edges of my identity
and suggest
that we all
in some way
in due course
serve the emperors of blood.
III
The Emperor
Although just a child
I stood
still
at my mother’s side
in the sun saturated compound
for the emperor’s men
to count our heads
as they did every day
two times a day at first
then after awhile just once
at six in the afternoon
rain or shine
but the sun always
beat on our heads
while our keepers counted
and recounted
in the service of
the emperor of the blood red sun.
We did not.
Although just a child
I sailed
away
at my mother’s side
from the sun stained shore
where the emperor’s men
lost their heads
to empirical ecstasy
and then lost face
when the rising sun set
on conquered graves
casting buried shadows
across
the emperor of the blood stained sun
and set
us free
to find tomorrow...
but we had lost
yesterday.
Although no more a child
I listened
helpless
to my mother’s dreams
of joy destroyed
by the emperor’s men
of hope crushed
by the emperor’s men
of love maimed
by the emperor’s men
of the abyss founded
by the emperor’s men...
to my mother’s dreams
that rose with the rising sun
and haunted
her days and nights,
her spirit captive yet
to the emperor of the bloodied sun...
dreams that whisper about
the edges of my identity
and suggest
that we all
in some way
in due course
serve the emperors of blood.