Innocent Son of a Tyrant

Father and son in the same world, facing opposite directions both consciences battle it out in the ring beneath the palace if his father won’t be in hell, he will be five minutes late a man of no honour, less reverenced than his own white horse this young man hawks kindness to his people to see the difference but they are ravaged by the fungal itch of his dad his hands are open to ease them of their pain from blisters they reject from the perceived smell of the palace’s butchery the man sitting on the throne flunks his people’s welfare to the son, without their love, there’s no freedom what is the use of a conglomerate without loyal employees? why should the affliction of a people be a mortal’s delicacy? in his dad’s chapter of the kings’ chronicles he forbids the nation’s historians to write down his name. if he’ll be the next leader, his father’s portrait will be painted in red.