Nathrangking

Technically, this should be week #8 poem 8. Last week exhaustion shut me down. Though I'm still exhausted this week I will hit my mark of two. That being said here is Week 8 poem #7.

                                                 Imprisoned Anew

 High atop ramparts of crystal my voice flies forth with force unrelenting to all corners of the realm of mortal flesh. The daughter whom I have seen as my truest blood desires not to help me shatter the chains of my lord. My rage boils even as I lash out and bring frost and fright to the ever so fragile subjects who I ought to rule over as supreme master and king. How I wish to tear down my sovereign and his jailer. The horrific and agonizing sight of the throne in the hands of a wind bag and lecher sets my teeth on edge.

From where I am trapped much useless knowledge comes close and becomes my ever present companion. No plot of mine will any of my brood ever dare to share or even begin to consider possible. Cowardly souls hide away behind stone walls which tremble before the fury that I set loose. Laurels are meant to be borne by my head as is the glory that it seems is only  meant for fools. What my immortal soul suffers at the hands of those who know not how or have not the will to crush underfoot the weak tears my flesh and bares my bones.

Clarity as no other comes to mind driving all else from me in a rush as the most raging of waters. Vengeance that I will visit first on my own blood takes a most wonderful shape around me. Blades frozen in a void that deities learn to fear split asunder that which holds me back and I begin my hunt. Ichor is spilled and many bodies fall when my weapons take what is mine without a thought of the weakness of mercy. Aeolus and Khione bleed together and are tossed aside as my steps take me to the foot of the divine mountain.

I clap my hands and tear Zues from his throne on high shaking the very cosmos as my power chills his blood until he has passed into forgotten lore. Complete is my sovereignty the moment that I bend all in subjugation at the base of my throne. Upon my brow is kingship and true power is mine at long last. Visions of all who would stand against me guard me and keep sleep and peace from ever again resting upon my spirit. Though I am Boreas  lord of all that the North winds touch I wonder why I have taken new heavier poisoned shackles for myself?