The mirth crease on my face,
Are the traces of scoff,
Laced in my heart,
The oath I swore,
I hold with pride,
And the throne;I shall surely ascend,

For in their minds are nefarious surmise,
Bequeathed by their fathers,
As an epitome of my exactitude,
And in the reverence of their supposed lore,
"He is powerless"their honored lingo,

"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
The webs I cast,
And crown the ravens on the orbs,
Somersaulting the flamboyance and alluring sciences,
In the follies of their fantasies and lust,
Their souls are clipped with taint claws,
And shooed into my den,

"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
In their temples and synagogues,
Are my dote ravens,
Quoting the collars of their scriptures,
And stalking their honored lingo,
In their desperations for excellence and deliverance,
Their minds and sight,
Are bewitched with elixirs,
To their satiety,
And drove in slavery,

'He is powerless"their honored lingo,
In their moments of quandery,
I hover on the corridors of their thoughts,
And whisper the "B" plans,
Brewing the animosities and cruelties among theirselves,
Carving justification for the aftermath,
But still;"He is powerless"their honored lingo,

Apostrophe'
©Historian E.Lexano