[Every Monday (until I run out of them), I’m posting a poem of mine that has fallen out from the submission process for some reason. In most cases, it will be one where I’ve received no response to my submission for at well over a year or more. Maybe the magazine I submitted them to has folded, the submission was lost in the post, or whatever. So, these poems can be seen as lost, orphans, of uncertain status, or something like that.]
These poems are also posted to ABCTales.
Ambition
All those bodies left in fields
blood seeping, soaking deep
like rain into the thirsty ground.
I thought I knew then.
I thought, I believed
I was there to wear the holy crown,
But I was no real king,
only ever really the fool.
Ambition gnaws away at the insides,
turns others into ciphers
for the yearned-for end.
I have no ambition left.
It is long gone, seeping into the ground
like the fresh blood of a young fool
who believed in all the visions,
who followed an older, but no wiser, fool.
And for what?
For ambition? For glory?
And what is glory?
Peacock's feathers.
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