King and Slave and I

It has been such an odd couple weeks. First, day after day of blazing, sunburnt heat - the sort that turns bedrooms into midnight saunas and makes even a drive with the windows down a blistering chore - and now, Autumn-like clouds and chill, and I couldn't be happier for the change. It does bring a melancholy feel to these downhill days of Summer, but it is a soft, gentle decline, and, anyways, I'm quite sure we haven't seen the last of the sun.

King and Slave and I

The days are wide and windy as the sea,

as waves and hours roll in steady swell

to delegate our duties. Slaved and free

the two compel.

A king can drop his knee to genuflect,

and, yet, the flux will draw him further down,

till he is, equally, a base subject,

of no renown.

The slave, alike, is made a slave again,

when cast into the fierce and fathomed tide,

where fluid bonds supplant a sturdy chain

and breaths subside.

And I, though neither king nor slave I be,

am subjugated strictly, as the two,

for hours set their ocean-weight on me

and so subdue.

Then I am yoked by time, in spring and neap,

and king and slave and I are spiraled low,

to rest our common heads in common sleep,

as hours flow.