Glorious Demons, Evil Kings

Watching him slay the evil demons, playing the glorious King,
in a bubble of childish innocence, the stuff of dreams.

I wish I could reason, analyze and explain,
why I saw demons in greatness, and Kings weak and vain.

In my pursuit of the perfect, the permanent and the complete.
A fulfilled life, trying to capture those moments that fleet.

Never stopping, never turning, running towards my goal.
I drew lines, took sides, tired my body and scarred my soul.

Sought solitude in a crowd and friends when lonely,
In every wise guy, found thoughtlessness and folly.

The tones always graduated, the lines forever blurred,
My ripples sometimes rewarded, my depth ignored.

It’s the hot that defines the cold, the tall that describes the short,
Calling one beautiful, makes another invariably not.

The background makes the portrait, silence makes the music.
No rest without movement, without the tension there is no release.

Never one against the other, but churning into each other,
Endlessly in a möbius strip, Kings for one and Demons for another.

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