The Dinner Of Kings

I've met men from all over the globe,
And women too,
I'll bet,
The soul of conquerors,
The greed of leaders,
And my life too,
I guess,
That In the world,
Of all the peoples,
The Grim,
In you and me,
Wets his mouth,
Folds his napkin,
To set down to a dinner of kings.

Thieves and Robbers,
They justify,
And Eventually in the end,
Are all just eaten,
By a cosmic thing,
Death in you and me.

I find that in this world,
Of one and nine,
I rot from the inside,
A fermentation process,
To taste me,
Death makes a cheese of me,
IN morals,
Deeds,
And inner needs,
A poison through my veins.

For the King comes out,
He loots,
He kills,
And goes back to hide inside,
Afraid of what the public thinks of him,
To stay on his good side.

A demon,
A god,
An Angel,
And Death,
All want the monsters inside,
And are prepared to wait for fifty years,
For a single dinner for four.


"Hungry Souls Always Want More" 7

ISA