this mundane man
who a combination
of received ambition
and blind chance
has placed at the head of a kingdom
is, because he is at that peak
a supernatural being
wrapped around with spells
the gods watch him

usually he is too bound up with endless activity
to feel them
but at times he sees the star dust
as he vainly grasps
slipping through his fingers
the destiny of twenty million
dropping into an abyss
the extent of which he cannot see
does not have the capacity to imagine

he is a follower only
and he goes to his followers
looking for answers
hoping they will save him
but he chose only in his own mould, but weaker
they can do little more than parrot him

sometimes he feels himself surrounded
by jabbering monkeys
and he feels that he is the king of all that aspires
the instrument of destiny
given the power to save all
or cast it to destruction
he does not realise that the gods give
no greatness, no capacity for making
to those who have no creation of their own

and so he hides from himself his own terror
slowly crushed by the world he believes he carries
and has stripped himself of the vision to know
that all the time
he is strapped to the front of an engine
pounding relentlessly down fixed tracks
and his iron will
is really just the metal of the rails
self-forged through obedience
that are carrying him helplessly
to his own destruction.