In the depths of his palace he lies on the pelts of his rivals. All the world’s beasts of prey. And he laughs with innocent joy. He is given treasures and stories and secrets from all corners of the world as offerings to his grace and power. An ancient merchant-king dressed in powder blue silk steps into the throne room. He leads behind him his veiled grand-daughters. Each carrying a golden box filled with jewels. With the eggs of the birds of paradise. Magic trinkets with the power to grasp the chaos of the world. With balls of fine hashish.

And the emperor laughs with the deep lungs of a crowned and conquering child.

Noblemen and kings, great merchants and wise magicians come to asking for a share of his judgment. His word is the law, and his mind is the clockwork of justice, of the state. He is wise and fair, if not always too fair. Too clear. Sitting above want and need like a proud star. Gleaming with a cold and distant light from a vast and incomprehensible heaven. He cuts from the raw stone a vision of the law and of justice. A law always reborn with every judgment, with every flaming burst of intuition. He burns away the ignorance and haze of dispute with the disinterested flame of a great actor. He improvises the lines of civilization. He is the spirit of his city, of his nation, of all the vast lands that he has taken and adopted as a father.

And he cleaves human flesh, eyes filled with excitement.

With a gleam in his eye and a song in his heart he rides from battlefield to battlefield.

The world is there to be conquered. To be dived into. To be made love to. To be chased with the light and laughing heart of one who loves the eternal hunt. Who yearns for every ending to be a new beginning. Who chases with the heart of a sparrow. And with the heart of a tiger. A winged beast of prey. Fangs bared smiling.

Such is the terrible purity of the emperor.

Such is the terrible merger of love and destruction.

He is a wildfire. Spreading and burning. Lighting the night. Before there were street lights there were the torches of marching armies. Oh woe to the conquered. Blood covers the earth like rain. How terrible is the smile of the emperor. How pointed is his crown. How cruel is the world. How cheap is life. A terrible revelation.

And he sits upon his throne in contemplation. Why spill blood. Why build a city. Why administer justice. And he lies reclining in excess. In great hot springs. In gardens of earthly delight. Amid flower and dancers and golden peacocks. Under the moon sipping the wine of pure light.

Sleeping.

Until the gates burst with flame. The enemy brings carnage to his palace. And eyes come alive with the love for life. His soul ignites like the wings of the phoenix.

And he flies through the heavens enraged with joy once more.

Saintphosphorus - 6/2/2022