Poisoned Ground Poem by Maya Hanson

My heart stops beating
as I kneel and drop the scepter
at his feet

Arrows lead me to the floodlights
I'm dragged from the center of my chest
by something beyond my control

The man on the throne
tosses his frozen conscience into a
pot of gold
and gives me a snarling smile,
his icy silver irises rimmed with gold

I'm too exposed here,
my eyes squeezed shut
I can't take the poison
seeping from the winter-packed soil

This gift is
33% of a cure
even these needles can't
save him from himself

I have brought him
just what he wanted
No one can bring him
what he needs,
the real remedy

His vision is blurred by
the pearls that pave his eyelids
He still draws lines in the sand,
with the heartless weight on his heels
and his head in the clouds
maybe he shouldn't be drawing lines at all.

But no, I should keep my mouth shut
I'm just the messenger
all I have to do is stare straight ahead
at the uncomfortable throne
he's chosen for himself

After all, maybe he
likes when it digs sharply into his spine
and splits open past wounds
just to heal them again
and leaves holes in his shoes

He can always just tear off some gold and buy new ones.

I press 33% of a remedy
into the pristine poisoned ground
The scepter pierces his skin
but not his heart.