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Village King

there’s a corner of my deck
still boasts the sun at two o’clock
where I sit and watch the people down below

and behind them on the harbour
laden boats are cutting water
bringing curios from the land of ice and snow

I imagine I am king
with a sceptre fit to sting
believing no one doubts a single word I say

of secret stitches in the curtain
all my subjects know for certain
they’ll be anchors for the longboats in the bay

all my streets of broken mirrors
scare the village superstitious
I have bandits camping on the edge of town

through a window made of guilt
admire the treasures in the silt
and later touch the broken magic golden crown

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


Love the imagery in this piece.


I love this
I have read it many times over the past few days, at times when I didn't have time to comment. The descriptive is great, I can just see you up there feeling like the lord of it all lol

Rhythm and rhyme smooth...
I enjoyed this
love judy

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

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