King of Nature

I wanted to write about the environment. A boy, born by the forest, maybe even the forest himself, goes into town one day. The townsfolk notice his differences. War breaks out.

Forest scene,

Boy with sceptor,

He walked with such a confident stride,

That all of the trees belowed behind,

Like inseprable iris's in an affixed crowd of flowers.

For tremors of flourishing bounty pounded the earth,

Even the roots reached up through the soil to sneak a peek of his stimulus.

 

Condescending smirks elapsed from his lips,

The townsfolk swiftly felt detested by his haughtiness.

More so, that they were plotting his demise.

Miscreants of misleading feelings towards his grin,

That painted his face for war, against them.

 

Little did they know,

That he was chosen by the engineers of oxygen,

To be an unseemly young messiah in such a more insignificant place;

So, any one person could be a prison at his stakes.

 

Strolling into his kingdom of bark, shelled clothing; and leaves, jaded hair;

He ambled about, moaning his indecisive motives,

With all of the elders of the eldest.

Maybe, even a boy without a family,

An Adam without his Eve,

Could have all the power.

 

Beseeched by his subjects,

He was gifted with a pure mind and a unspoiled soil, his armor,

That rattled the minds of the townsfolk who were less fortunate.

Maybe, even a boy without a muscle,

A Troy without his Helen,

Could have all the power.

 

The day soon came,

To that all of the land had trained for,

Crowds of choleric civilians raided his kingdom

Mammon to none other, than

He of grande and steady fortitude.

Handed-down from limp, to limp,

Today ,a kismet, predicted and transcribed,

that knavery would not taunt him, forthwith, but when he was as ripe

As the fruit that trimmed his true brethren.

 

As evaporated from the sun,

He absorbed any incandecsence which slithered through the cracks of the canopy;

Like a brother to a plant in a solarium room, safely being perserved.

He grew.

He propagated.

He proliferated.

To a velocity no tree could muster.

Branch to tree, Hand to man,

He held the carnivores of catharsis in a choke-hold,

Relieving them of their tension and distest.

Only to drop them back onto his land,

And hope they come to know he was not as condescending,

Never a need for malaise, nor acrimony.

He was, after all, the messiah of an ambivalent ball and chain theory, gone awry.

He knew.

He had been conversant in.

He had been cognizant.

Because the arbiter of men,

Started with one single trace

Of the King of Nature,

All but forgotten,

Regarding but one fallen act of grace.