Rex Vs.
In the darkest garden, underneath the oldest tree,
my opposite number offers the cup, and spirit enters me.
An orphan envies the son of a judge,
then retires to the shade to nurse his grudge.
Among the gathered crowd, a cloaked form glides.
Inbetween a veil and hood; a pair of hollow eyes.
I feel the zero on my back like arrows, trained,
to silence the pulse of my intent to be the bystander blamed.
Sweating blood and tears, takes the weight upon his shoulders;
Through the storm, to the summit: to claim his prize.
But who believes an avatar that cries?