The ogre leaps with massing hands and takes the king's head for his football feet, takes all and what would be a stump of neck contains no shrivelled seed of future crowns. Hope dozes in the eye and tongue drips out as blowpipe hate knots face to score a goal: and faces fired in the glass of lust drum hands on arteries of pulsing bone. The carrion is sharpened for the feast and butter bursts from eyeballs roasting slow. Cream-wafered ears where rubies once were set and vitamins of ghost reward the beast. The dynasty is swallowed by the panting pump and no blood-basted armies fish it back. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERLIN'S PROPHESY by WILLIAM BLAKE THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 23 by THOMAS CAMPION THE MAY MAGNIFICAT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS RORY O'MORE; OR, ALL FOR GOOD LUCK by SAMUEL LOVER EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT by ALEXANDER POPE A COWBOY'S HOPELESS LOVE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS INTAGLIOS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AN INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE IN DR. PRIESTLEY'S STUDY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |