Number King

Number King short poem

Photo by clry2

All hail the King who gives thee numbers.
Those who fear him shall stand beside him,
And laugh with him,
Only to be crushed by him like all other unsatisfactory numbers.
Faces upon faces upon names upon names,
Thrown into his royal strainer,
Some falling through to the bottom,
Disregarded into the King’s pot.
Others stay behind,
Fool’s gold twinkling in the King’s eyes.
Beautiful numbers.

Numbers have the power to wage war.
Score marks are scars of battle.
The number of bodies piles up,
While the bodies of numbers who stand by the king
Dwindles.
Friends become enemies while
Enemies remain foes.
People begin to go through dozens of faces
And dozens of names
To become a number worthy of the King.
They are numbered, as they wish,
Like cattle branded in a field.

They fight tooth and nail,
Face and name,
So busy trying to be a number
They are not being men.
As if the shape of a number describes them.
As if a number’s curve, angle, or figure
Truly encompassed their passions.
As if quantity truly overcomes quality.

But no score marks me.
No King stands over me.
For I am not a number

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Kelany Brent

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~Lover of lots, hater of nothing. ~Writer, drawer, pianist, positive thinker ~Obsessed with dragons.That's all you'll ever need to know about me :)
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