You only saw one monster,
When really there were many.
And the one you saw was the
One you thought to be the
King of them all.
Perhaps its fangs were the sharpest, I concede;
Perhaps its claws seared your skin with the greatest heat;
Perhaps you felt its poison to be the most devastatingly controlling.
But there was and is a monster greater than
The one you acknowlege so readily,
And that black devil,
King of all that haunt you in wake and sleep,
The King of those that tear your heart from me,
The black-crownèd King of the monsters who tempt you to drink that
Water that you now look on with loathing while yet still
Craving the lucid impairment of its poisoning.
You are not drunk on lust,
Rather you are drunk on
The poison of Pride, your monster-king–
Every desert-traveller's monster-king.
I have come to take his place, however.
Give me your hand and we will unseat him together,
And then I will lead you to good water from
The wellspring that is mine and my father's.
Oh, give me your hand, my
Come kill your Pride and
There is life in me;
There is none in him.
© Copyright 2016 Iskah E Shirah. All rights reserved.
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