Become exalted among men.
That was his calling, down
To the fibers that made up
His consciousness.

Become a paragon of virtue.
Piety, prestige, power.
The three undulating commands
That invaded his dreams.

Hubris seeping from every pore,
He conquered his lands,
Spreading warmth from which
Came serendipity.

Will he die and leave his subjects
In a mask of pain?
Or will his benevolence remain
in the hearts of his loyal followers?

Such was the opaque fog
of his mind. Where he saw a perfect
Sphere of light
was an oblate cloud of darkness

Out of which seeped words
Of encouragement.
Prestige, piety. Power.
Benevolence. Destiny.
Just one more body.
Just one more royal cause.
They don't mind dying for you.
They will become martyrs;
You will become their god.

They call him a tyrant.
No. That word will not be allowed
In his country.
But
The darkness grows within him,
Becoming him.