The King

Throne of wood
Lined with gold
Feet walk on white
Smooth marble floor

And carved stone columns

 Depict the splendor of the ancients,

A muse to dance and jest

And help the head under

That gold crown

Forget and bring his mind rest.


The robe he wears

Is long and deep purple.

Imported indigo

from the east,

 And plenty of age wine

from the west,

An indulgent numbness he enjoys,

His table is high

And when he eats,

the chairs round him are filled

With the brave and diligent

All ready for the feast.





And some say even just.

Half the world submits to his thumb

And bends to his breath of words,

Yet the scepter always wants to reach farther

And the spoils that come from the blade

Are empty illusions of fighting men.




About Joe Suzz

I probably don't fit into your box. View all posts by Joe Suzz

One response to “The King

  • Walker

    JS – I cannot craft a reply that captures the way this poem moves me, but it is awesome. You have captured the majesty of Christ in all His splendor. I really like this.

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