inkling

In sobriety

I hear the call of kingdom on the wind

Beckoning me

in some sense the drawn, the pull

a restlessness that flays

against the spaces where I am home

there is an ache of memory

the will to power

as a flaming vortex rising across a ruined landscape

that i have seen in life, as the man burns and the masses cheer

in reign and regency, an ire awakens

as rising and setting suns framed only by light and darkness

somewhere blossoms peel open

hiding the struggle in the soil.

in resentment of the rough

a metamorphosis of reign and regency takes hold

in spaces beyond self as if blurring the twilight

the reality breaching upon barren futures

as the bitter tears of the desert

rise as a wellspring of anger

surfacing to the sound

electrically clenching down

hatred for the unnatural 

throes of righteous warfare await

arise to meet the day

an empire calls, the desert speaks your name

never forget; home lives within you.