The Tyrant and the Poet

A great tyrant ruled, and said,
"If a man accomplishes his dream
"Then all will want to.
"We need the common laborer."
There was a poet, who understood much.
He crafted in his Words like a smith
And precisely found all wisdom.
The Tyrant then was jealous---
Being slothful, and not wanting to read
He merely wanted to campaign
And find more support for himself.
Thus, the Poet understood,
And had memory of a lost time.
The Tyrant then changed the very books
He was reading, to dull the poet's mind.
But, the Poet used force of logic
To overpower even the dullness...
For his mind tasted the words
And could detect even the slightest falsehood.

The Tyrant raged, and said,
"The most well fed in the village
"Is the hunter you fool!"
The poet smiled, and said,
"Then you do not know about the medicine man?
"How they collect the ancient memories
"And paint upon the walls?
"How they discreetly teach their friends
"How to judge rightly?"
The Tyrant screamed,
"No! The hunter will  be paid!"
And the Poet said,
"Yet, the Hunter will even
"Steal the gatherings from his weaker brother.
"Thus, the poet must teach why this causes dearth."

The Tyrant then took the Poet, and used his craft
To cause him to get sick. 
Thus, the poet was sick, and near death...
And his mind was altered by the Tyrant's curses---
For the Tyrant employed theurgy
Employing Seraphim to weaken his heart and mind.
Thus, he oppressed the poor Poet severely.
For, all must work, so the Tyrant would
Prosper in his craft, and steal the Poet's profits,
And become rich. And he would use cosmetics
Upon his skin, and masks of mud,
And he would found cities with bloodshed...
For he was a great Tyrant, and caused
All the cities of the Earth to be built
With blood. Their bodies upon the street.
He entered into the kingdom, and killed.

The Poet was there, upon the sheath,
Writing his songs. And he prospered nothing,
For the Tyrant was black, and wished
Him to labor hard, and gruel.
For the Tyrant could be a sloth
And therefore, rule over many worlds
And feel that reading were beneath him.
He could rule. For, a Leader of a Land
Must read at least 50 pages a day twice;
He must listen to his counselors
Speak. He must understand the laws.
He must talk with foreign dignitaries.
He must talk with his generals.
He must take account of history.
He must hide nothing from his people.
This the Tyrant did none of.
Thus, he took the Poet
Who felt great pains in his skin---
For the demons made him pained---
And the Tyrant laughed,
And felt he was winning.

The poet was then taken to a cell
Where no sight nor sound could pernitrateHe was given potions to increase his suffering
And make him severely addicted, so he would be easier to control..
And he was thrown into it,
And his entire work was burned.
Every word he wrote, was destroyed---
Or rewritten by the Tyrant.
And the poet sat in there
And he lost all his memories.
He was then Tabula Rasa
And when he came out,
The Tyrant saw his intelligence
And retaught him everything,
Teaching him evil arts.
And the poet was beautiful,
And thus, with his memories washed,
He became a great general
And became the Tyrant's weapon
And all warfare was turned
To the Tyrant.
And the Poet, whose only desire
Was to be a righteous man,
With a wife, children, and good dainties to eat
Portions of flesh, fruits and spices;
Milk, tea and water;
A bed to lay in that was comfort,
And a small house to cover him.
This was stolen, and the Poet
Was now a homosexual,
And he had a mansion,
And instead of eating injected himself with vitimins. 
And this is the torment he spread.
Upon who, has not your evil passed over continually?