An Irregular Sonnet

December 14, 2016

The dark lord is an enigma to them all.
What was Khosatral Khel ‘fore he oozed up into iron?
Was the Abhorrent an angel ere the fall,
and can he sit untroubled on the throne?

He crafts in dead and tortured refuse flesh
a dumb colossus, raising him on high.
But what god to worship (challenge?) save the flash
of his own genius raking at the sky?

A chronicler may puzzle out his birth—
what cosmogonous rupture turned his soul.
Queen Heggra’s spite had molded his self worth;
or she still hunts her lover, ever doomed to fail.

Though for each spidery Warlord, a reason can be shown,
yet no Aggressive Menace knows its very own.

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