The King's Toast
I am a shadow of someone
my own age,
wandering around, bartering,
and sagging at the waist
I am a shadow
of someone who smirks crookedly,
picks up where he left off,
and dies on the spot;
a jester
with a myocardial infarction & cancer
Yes, I am a shadow of someone
uncannily alike,
dead tired,
ashes to ashes
I am a shadow
beneath drifting skies
and widening horizons;
the shadow of a chance
in someone perpetually unreal,
waking from incomprehensible dreams
in the early morns
watching dawn prepare itself for noon
and the end of life;
a shadow among conscripted soldiers
and tenant farmers;
among recruits with twisted mustaches
on yellowed photographs;
a dissolved outline
in due course's ever extended shadow;
a glint over the crust of snow
in the harsh light of war
piercing every crack & crevice;
a stark shadow over the crowd;
a proclaimer of benedictions & the King's toast
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Written on 2024-11-28 at 11:55
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