The Lizard King

The lizard king, slimy but with a golden touch
Awaiting the minions who carry out his search
Sitting around in glum and glee, Is he really the king of misery?

He shouted out with clear notes of wisdom,
His voice rang with the thunder of freedom,
His voices of flavor became one another,
His Rising eruption, his doom’s creator…

With a genuinely charmed pulsating whine,

Feeding his tentacles, long and white,

Slimy and stubborn at the same time

Where choices are finite but they do not rhyme…

As he gazed over the mountain, with wisdom immense,

His eyebrows curled and his emotions were dense

He foresaw the horizon and knew he couldn’t miss

His pupils gazed into his slimy mind, with a silent hiss …

He shouted out with clear notes of wisdom,
His voice rang with the thunder of freedom,
His mercurial musings deepened his fever,
Buried in his putrid philosophies that stank forever… 

Till he turned back into that majestic king,

And as he spoke with that ever knowing ring,

In his voice that echoed afar, forever pale and deep

In a cage, his withered mind, knew how to sleep and weep…