Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

The Archon Sits.

by Jonathan Hyde

The Archon sits upon the stone cold throne
He awaits honor and grace, 'gifts' from those displaced.
The stolen heartbeats from the red breasts nest.
Now bow before the pride of a face made up of many faces.

To look at legion features ever changing
And place the source of all this power is beyond hope
To trace the steady rise that led to this strange misanthrope
Falls far beyond mere human scope.
His gaze is as Medusa, a modern paralysis
A state of catatonic bliss
Guns and bombs and gas and TV hiss
Accompany the flick of tongue forked lies
The monster forged this state
Through clever tricks, deceptions spanning decades
Now it feeds on apathetic fear and hate
Gloating, bloated, fed on hearts, devouring fates.
The last laugh is canned and bottled
The last smile twisted into grimace
The last ray of hope trapped in a hall of mirrors
The last sunrise sucked into the belly of the beast.
The Archion sits and waits in the empty chamber
Awaits honor and grace so gently laid in soft sweet bundles
But none now will visit where stale air inhabits
A great palace called avarice.

Added: 29.04.2010

Judges' comments on this poem


Chilled me to the bone and crept like ivy into this position, with its stony distinctions. Very well written material.