March stands on the precipice of life and dislikes the view.

The infant King, fawned over, lauded, feted and feared in equal measure,

the tyrant teenage regal monster and the early despot in waiting

rages. His senses coloured, polarised by anger, unhappiness and sorrow,

understands only too well that for all his blustering fury, this is not

what he was meant to be to the people in his shadow.

 

The blackness of the sky, the rage and fury, the odd measure of calm

in another wise incensed frenzy in which ships shiver in still icy waters ,

their flags sending out messages of help,

their sails torn and tossed over the side of splintered wood…

all will be gone and only those locked in harbour will remain

with their pole stood firm, proud and aloft.

The armies sent out in their millions, ready to conquer foreign fields,

will all die in vain, and all hopes of securing the future will seem as lost

as the King’s thoughts of mercy, to which no medicine will relieve.

 

The days of being February, the rebel King, like his father before him,

are tempered by shortness of breath and Time being his Emperor, the clock

is ticking and he will never sire a child to take his place at this rate,

as every twenty year old feels.  A change of name, but the fury remains.

Darkness will give way to light, even in the most Northern outpost,

of the Kingdom, but the King is not willing to admit that in his mind, but the day will come

when the hour soon dictates that he sees through fresh hazel eyes and his

temper will be softened and composed, the serenity of his life

is at hand and the nine month wait for the new arrival will begin

in earnest.

The age of change for March is at hand.

There will still be times in which the terrible tyrant will shake the fist

that adorns the throne and wields, dictates…commands affection by decree

at the sky that falls and punishes those in its protection

but it will feel mercy like his once beautiful mother learned to pronounce with a gentle smile.

 

King March, open your soul to the opportunity of leading your subjects

into the grace you know you want to feel,

let the grass grow under your feet and unburden yourself from such

self imposed tyranny. Let your life not be dictated by anger, sloth, misery

and cold hearted logic, take the chance in early youth to bring warmth

to those in the Northern Empire and let them see sunshine and beneficence,

for our King, let your true self become known and let

it be decreed, that your male wrath is over.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.