The Prince

This land is mine.
My own little bailiwick,
my power supreme.
None dare to defy me.
I choose life
or death
or some demeaning inbetween
for any who dwell here.
In love with my own majesty,
beating young virgins
into bloody sacrifice,
gorging on sweet aromas
of burning flesh.
Nothing too grand, too opulent
to venerate my presence,
lofty beneficence
of my rule.
Who has temerity to call me cruel?
Every tragedy I oversee
can be assured of
profound value.
Torment as tribute
to self-acclaimed All Powerful
has its own recompense
and pride.
.
.
.
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