my first poem i've posted here

Golden Boy calls them gods, 

 Laughs as ichor escapes 

His veins. The rest will scoff 

But will not disagree. Their 

 City lives in fear of them, 

And really, what is a god 

But someone who holds 

The power of life and 

Death in their hands?


Golden Boy forgets what 

It means to die, gilds his 

Hands in crimson blood and 

Calls himself immortal. He 

Sweeps through the city and 

Nothing can touch him; 

Death is but the last truth 

His silver tongue will twist.


Golden Boy cups the city 

In his palms and wishes 

 He was Midas. He settles 

For the orange-gold of 

Flames. He is not a king 

But something divine, and 

 He laughs as he watches 

His worshippers burn.


He does not mean to be 

Cruel, but he is so full 

 Of holiness, there is no 

 Room left for mercy.

- vengeful gods demand sacrifice, A.B