The Emperor In His War Room (First Version)

(i) The Emperor

Standing in the space
That holds the silent lace of night away from you
You think that you can hold
The searing, molten gold between your fingers
But it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes
Exposing the white of a knuckle
Flesh and metal forming letters in the mould.

Cradling your gun
After choosing the ones you think should die
Lying on the hill
Crawling over the windowsill into your living-room
They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads
Bodies torn by vultures
You are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death.

Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak
Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace
Ah, but it is the only way you know.

Looking out to sea
A flattened plane of weeds which bears no living
You crush life in your fist
As your heart is kissed by the lips of death
Ghosts betray you, ghosts betray you
In the night they steal your eye from its socket
And the ball hangs fallen on your cheek.

Complaining tongues are stilled
A thousand mouths are filled with rusting metal
Your face a shade of green
Somehow you try to speak through all the garbage in your mouth
But it won't come out
And you cannot frame the words as your stepson
Throws your fame into the flames and you are burned.

Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak
Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace
Ah, but it is the only way you know.