Waiting

Shall I pull stitches from torn flesh,

to prove you my pain?

Or would that only evidence my mortal status

before your concrete, community throne?

You have stolen and silenced a voice;

taken possession which you can never be worthy. 

You of lofty pose,

pray you seek to fly over the balance of scales

may you climb higher and higher.

For I shall sharpen my saber,

creep close to the ground,

and cut down your beanstalk. 

Within the mists where you find refuge

I shall crouch and bide my time

for when you least expect it

I will be there to remind you

of what you are beholden.