Sovereign

The goddess weeps in my hands and I hold her as she drowns in wave after wave of despondent emotion.
It’s a lonely moment in this dark castle. I open the windows so her cries echo into the night.

Come one. Come some. Those who hear, only.

This gong is for you. Its name is clarity. Convoluted clarity. AfroSays:
SOVEREIGN

Sovereign

“Say a word and it will be my name”

“Sovereign”

“That should do. Tell me mortal, what do you want, more than anything else in the world?”

“What is outside of it.”

“Tell me again, how would you like to live?”

“Beautiful. And wild too, like a mountain flower.”

“And how would you like to die?”

“Quick and glorious. Just after the sun is highest, just before it grows tired of glowing and begins to return to its mother.”

“My name will be your name; you will be sovereign! You will be born a man of little means, you will excel at the arts because your soul will be here, with me, where your treasure is. Because. You will have wine and men and women and the power in that influence. You will die at the hands of your men so that all men do not forget your art. Your art shall be battle.”

He lived and fought and led by fighting, Asegun did. He conquered barbaric peoples and established governments he didn’t rule. Governments for the people. Men followed him. Women followed him and his men. He conquered the world, the sovereign.

And after there was nothing else to conquer, he had to witness the work that his hands had made. Civilization was the product of his art. But civilization brought with it politics and corruption and treachery. A holy man could not survive those times where ruthless cunning wielded more power than blade. Asegun became the enemy; his puritanical philosophy became heresy. The sun had began its descent.

He was executed publicly, on a yellow day, gloriously burnt at stake for all to see, an enemy of his creation.

A century later, they were all barbarians again, searching for another sovereign.

CLUES

There is a creator. There is a man. There is the life he lived. There is the world he lived in. There is the end of him.

Welcome to the new category, The Trench. These is my real art. I write them often and share them with only a few close minds. Minds that can vibe with mine. These same minds encouraged me to share them with you. Thank them or do not.

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