Makaveli’s The Prince (Not Machiavelli’s)



“Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.”

Mirrors for princes,

To peer within, the young man only had to look at his own hands

And see how he treated the world around him as opposed to

How the earth had held him.


Soil filling in the patterns underneath his boots,

An ornamented knife hiding like a small child against his left ankle.

Sitting in a carriage next to the devil,

The other man controlled the horses before them.


He often spoke of wearing a bulletproof vest,

And sat poolside remembering the low income housing he heiled from.

This kingdom is separate yet not impersonal to how clouds ruled giants.

And the sun rose in the eastern skies, but found solace in the western front,

Not entirely different from how the prince lived and died in Los Angeles.


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