Knees snapped backward,
forced into worship without choice.
Was it triumph, or was it hunger
that made you loom so big and tall?
Did you drink the pleasure
of frightening the small?
Monster black-furred tyrant
you thrashed the skyline
to clutch a young heart in your fist.
But even kings have rivals.
The lion wears a crown
dripping with other creatures’ blood.
The ram carries prophecy
etched deep in the bone of his skull.
The bull dreams with one eye open,
hooves stamping the earth into gold.
All rulers, beast or man
hold their toys
until the toys grow teeth.
And teeth, once born,
chew tomorrow into shape.
The mind alone
is the crown that lasts.