castled...

when the land was flooded,
with draught and darkness,
where the sun shone in satanic nobility.
no difference between stock and human,
no means to fulfill either's capacity.
when there was no light to follow,
and no land to be ploughed.
and the popular oxymoron was,
'you reap what you sow'.

the king was born, in the fields of corn,
the one who shall take them through.
castled in purple robes,
one whose majest is not borrowed,
to add essence to this malodor brew...

people were who he protected,
he bled so they could rest.
he built with his hands bare,
a home, because he cared.
a teacher when the students learned,
he brought the wood that they burned.
his sword glittered in the sunlight bright,
a demon's nightmare, when he comes to fight.

and on the street near the bay,
on a fine spring day.
demons gathered to form a plot,
to hang the warrior, by the knot.
and in a moment of deject,
when his thoughts he could not connect,
they cornered the ones he trusted,
and bought their soles rusted.

he knew he faces judgement day,
he rose with his sword, ready to slay.
swamped with the colour of wine in the sac,
he heard the tearing of his flesh.
and he sees familiar faces around,
the obvious is what he has now found.

he fought for the ones who could not stand,
for themselves or the samaritan.
and he hopes its goodwill that they still sell,
but did they really, he couldnt tell.

...the percipient