Affairs of State

Though wise and wary kings should feel there ain’t
no sense in storing any goods as quaint
and rare as precious metals, pictures, stones
that may be envied in their very bones,
King Craggan mourns the coffer full of cold
but otherwise quite valuable gold
his rude and rascally retainers stole
when for a moment out of prison on parole.
As he can’t any longer pay their bills
his paramours have taken to the hills
and lie in waiting for the next of kin
to mount the throne and do the old king in
when dressed in unholiness, husky perfume
and little besides they will run to resume
the fruitful small tasks that their sovereign asks,
their bored, sagging faces done up into masks
depicting enjoyment and deep veneration
for that festering prick of a head of the nation.
His dear old friends resent the flow of booze
has been dammed up - they’re not the ones to lose
their precious moments on considerations
as by the sudden stop of his donations
they know what this king’s friendship must be worth
and trundle off, in search of greener earth
and ‘sblood, a generous drop of the creator -
a well-filled cup, and yet one more, and later
a bottleneck to hold your trembling hands on to...
a bottle - isn’t the deep glass just like the sunrise? Glossy
glass - shmooth light - love - liquid luxshuries - fill me another -
here’sh mud in your eye!
His prized possessions prove no consolation
as close inspection grants no approbation
to junk and gaudy baubles, be they royal ones -
and thinking on them brings no king in trance
but sends him shuddering to think again
on the inane creation known as man
that other men can’t seem to do without
however much his qualities they doubt.
Alack! It takes a painful loss to see
the empty bowels of all pomposity
as when we’re in the thick of it, we won’t
believe who says it’s better if we don’t
deny ourselves to serve the Mammon’s cause
whereas his arguments provoke applause -
Still, old King Craggan soon will stop his mourning
a sadder, wiser man. He’s had his warning.