We were
the small army
who found cause to want
to rest the tower
from the king’s body.
His million eyed stomach
was the entry
to his loaming sword.
I climbed a tree
and waited in the gleam
of the moon for
either a ladder
or the brays of my horde
to conquer him.
On my side
is the factory’s pire.
On my side
is the harp’s laughing chordes
tower speaking:
“My children,
you will never leave.”
hero speaking:
“My father,
we will take you back”