The Gilded

Wed, 10/28/2015 - 12:52 -- Cal_

Rich bastards

boastfully broadening their arrogated allowances daily

parsimonious, pompous, greedy;

the world of their ruling,

their businesses,

very healthily oiled machines.

Upon a throne the glorious bastards preside,

but I too will have mine in due time.

 

Young and full of youth a gentleman taken in by the guild,

gilded me into a world of gilded sin:

euphoria peeked my tidy and roped me about.

I couldn't see an out,

but my cares failed me yet.

The constant reintroduction of gilded plenty

without the slight;

desire for any... manies-

more... gilded me into plite.

 

I was in.

No longer the follower reliving vague vicarious lies,

I was there, hashing, stead rehashing the glorious bastard life.

The waxes were fine.

The cents were fine.

The silver and gold was polished.

The ground squeaked in each stride.

My reflection greeted me in every window I saw.

The armory impressively stocked from bow to saw

The kitchens stocked;

the dine halls clean.

 

Celerity in my servants bounds,

tended tightly to my wishes at all times.

Never a single luster to find housing in my gilded shine.

 

Unexpectedly, I seemed to push resign;

who knew this glorious bastard would diminish with due time?

Those the same who built my shrine, as I’d done to at one time,

tore me to my knees swiftly, impaling my fate to resign.

At once, I'd seen the end of my line.

 

Found squandering in a ditch, I wallowed in loathing of my own self regret.
"Never again", thought I to become this broken wretch.

Again the sun's illusions of presence brought me a chance to stitch
the fabric of my, once facilitated, arrogance

On accord with my thoroughbred heartless lynch,

I shook my lyre and listened deeply to its snare,

spoke I softly, “roar my darling, your time is near”

The war of tides will end and those I liege will once again pluck your hairs.

 

Announce my reign upon the decorated halls of scorn.

Thy hallowed halls have transient been longing of my rightful yearn.

Thus this day I proclaim the things i've earned.

The gilded lad,

in pleated denim and plaid,

this time humble of aura, yet respectable suave.

My decree by crow of mourning introduced by the peek of morning.

I have reconquered my land.

accompanied by squadron of relevant men.

We are the gilded, wealthy, glorious, bastards.

Aye sir, Tis our land.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741