Sonnet #7: Monarch

Misery, step off your pedestal and

Bow to me. I know you not as my king.

I shall not stoop at all to kiss your hand

Or press my lips against your wicked ring.

Oh Misery, leave your supposed throne

And observe it now as it burns to ash.

No praises sung to a monarch unknown

Any honor proclaimed would be yours last.

Misery, thrust your crown into the dust

And witness the ultimate disrespect.

I spit at it now, and your name I cursed

For I am free from your immoral debt.

Mis'ry, how vain you make yourself to be

If you shall think I'd subject to thee.

March 12, 2007