the kings

Times we enter in the middle expecting the prose that was written before this;

We continue searching for the missing parts before the beginning and after the end

Long after the words were read; long after the curtain was drawn.

The search in the words and within us goes on;

Sometimes while we live; sometimes after we are gone. 

The vicissitudes that make and break us; the promises that keep us alive;

Long, long after everyone is asleep, long after the dying of the light. 

We are the crawlers of the night; eyes wide open: playing shadow boxing with each phase of life.

Fighting to create a kingdom, but at what price?

If everything is lost; do I still win?

A street full of blood and shattered dreams: am I still king?

Do I sit on the throne whose thorns have stabbed millions in the back?

Do I double down on the anger and ante up the attack?

Is this what was needed? Is this what was planned?

Frankly, my dear, no one gives a damn.