Humankind's Next Living Language Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

The King yet stands
on the boulevard of eternity
barely alive in each fading memory
through countless centuries; dominating all
by impatient mobs and sobbing disabled offspring
and as the greater society deserted humbling fellowship
that rampant bitterness, from every corner and shadow gleans
forever stretching the fate of faith and given eloquence of
all lifetimes… As the vain are hung, the conspiring kneel
in time's cinders, smoldering and odoriferous, destined
to be mixed in with the ash of once was, that garden
paradise as the proud gaze upon the head of that
celestial Hydra, moaning at the sight of this
appearing from its darkened veil; it is the
"Master of the Ravening", returning from
the mists amidst the trailing's caught
from eons of travelling; this 'tail'
to be Earth's doom and in this moment
only the dead will remember this world's
fortunes, and they cannot renounce what is
soon to become humankind's next living language.