King of the UnderWorld
I've had this idea in my head for sometime for a piece of art I've been wanting to do. It's been itching at my brain a lot lately, and since I can't exactly get the piece done at the moment as I'd like, I thought I'd come up with a little piece of writing to describe him instead...
King of the UnderWorld
And there he sits,
an Elven king,
perched high
atop his throne,
mighty lord,
surveying all he sees-
regent of the subway lines...
The UnderGround, his home.
...
Lord of rats and skittering things,
a vagabond or two,
a homeless woman in a blackened cart,
and while you're there, he lords o'er you.
Metal cars go streaming past
like screeching bean-sidhes in the night,
while passersby linger & move ever on,
oblivious of his Majesty's sight.
Upon a stairwell never used,
for what reason none quite knows why,
His Lordship makes his humble roost,
Sheltered from rain, and sun and sky.
For he is the Lord of the UnderGround,
the Master of all he sees,
and he owns all the tunnelways, rail stations and tube-cars,
We all merely come and go by his leave.
Yes every vagrant and traveller, socialite & tramp,
Every businessman, fop, boy and girl,
Passes through the railways as His Lordship allows it,
For we are only sojourning subjects within His World.
This his crown of found objects,
That sits atop his high, chiseled brow,
Encircling tendrils of light, flowing locks,
And his frowning, eloquent mouth.
He sits in the center of the stairwell,
Long white hands gripping the rails of his throne,
As the escalators move people unseeing,
And his lordship reigns, all alone.
His clothes are rugged & care-worn,
With torn blue-jeans and strapped leather boots,
While on his arms rest long metal gauntlets,
His chest bare but for ancient tattoos.
And there he is, and always will be,
The Lord of the great UnderGround,
Reigning over his Kingdom, unheard and unseen,
All alone.. Well- at least, until now...