schorched the earth and chased various others around the planet
armed only with tattered bibles and the hidden antique contraptions of rifles their design as unreliable as if thieves filled them with powders of flour not explosives stuffed down barrels capped by faulty bullets not seen in action since the tumult of the Mexican Wars more scarred and unreliable than tiny asteroids randomly rained upon the earth
they chased the journey men by now recognisable to the reader as any man a saint or a sinner, a Pope or a scoundrel sometimes a weird amalgam of all as the seasons permit their competitors to reign upon the land as lords of quarters in turns under God’s direction or some native God his texts disiphered only by historians as dead as Moses himself
the characters of the journey men and his tribe include vanquished Kings vagrants and beggars.
they threw in their lots together in a democratic fashion unfamiliar to their previous lives as scoundrels and clowns at the courts of tyrants
at this turn of time the lad was elevated to the King himself the lead man of their journey had passed away as a man does after the chapters of his life are done and the ink describing them runs dry as a stream in summer
he passed in a desert cave grateful that the harsh midday sun spared him its bright examination of his last breath and the interrogation of his life … a quiet blue fire in the hearth warmed his passage
the lad assumed his regency with little effort as a student overmasters his teachers skill and graduates to a brighter future
The lad asks his consort to follow him
Flynnpoetry 