Magistrate of Glen Moor

Slabs of stones with notches,

bound at corners and sat

on a patch of land that will be mine to dictate.

Have I had enough words,

not one spoken or heard?

Here I can run my hands along the palace walls,

and know I have attained

something claimed as my own.

I already possess the throne, sat down level

with the feline laying

low and begging for food.

Proud I can be to tout this place as my new home,

where I could be alone,

when it's forced upon me -

when I'm harrowed enough to force it on myself.

Instead, I could descend

into dungeon-like depths,

and torture the neighboring inmates with a song.

I'm sure they'd play along

were they enabled to,

instead of disabled by their adoration

for the new head of state,

bound by scroll and by fate,

as the new king, hereby decreed, in December.

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