We sparkle not out of vanity, but as a shield— where transactions mean everything and nothing An arm and a leg just to steal a breath from the slavemasters of the world, desperate for new blood to donkey-work their architectural desires We sparkle to camouflage the dents in our exterior. We relinquish ownership to puppets swollen with greed, dwarfed by idiocy, tanned with fallacy. Thin as reeds, they rush past in their pond of stagnation— easy to maneuver, as Louis was to his regent We legitimize orphaned souls, aching for borrowed dawns— philosopher-kings rehearsed, offering mercy with one hand while leading sons back into ritual fire Hoping for a softer ascent up mountainous power struggles, food chains frothing with riots and coups of the century Medieval lords could attest— I think Climbing a mountain of bones, Us as the rope: steadfast Who blames them for guarding their secrets if it costs a night outside the castle walls? W would sooner reclaim the crowns we gave They were never kings— only paupers with better lighting Running on our benevolent white blue charge answering to darkness with a snare only a monk with a heart of gold can do perfunctory