the grass scissored in the wind powered
by a sun blinding with conceit
the moon cut out from the sky by a child at play
and set aside for some future game
the ocean serene and cobalt blue
as if freshly inked by the pen of the Creator
a King appeared on his stage
and a candle of hope burned and flickered for his future
but not for long
his fool moving from behind his shadow sits on the throne
where he has always so resided
a ghost well pleased with his work
he rested on the 8th day of creation
like the Devil
Flynnpoetry 