A New King Crowned

(I recently found this manuscript outside my front door. It appears to be from a poet of the older persuasion—a bard. I was reminded that more than two decades ago; while cleaning out my great-grandfather Eino’s attic after his passing, I discovered fragments of an old manuscript. That one, too, was attributed to a poet called Finn Bard.

This new manuscript must be from Finn Bard’s son or, at the very least, someone carrying on the tradition.

Here it is.)

Bob Passi

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A New King Crowned

A king is crowned upon this fateful day,

His coronation shines in grand display.

The wealth and power overflow with might,

A game of rule begins—of force and fight.

But who shall win, and who shall fall from grace?

His court stands near, all smiles upon each face.

They strut and swagger, basking in his glow,

And so, a nation shifts—the old must go.

No station safe, no rank beyond the fray,

To cleanse the past, bold action paves the way.

The world now quakes beneath his watchful eye,

For Panama, the canal must now comply.

And Gaza’s shores shall glisten, sold for gold,

To those who bid the highest, wealth untold.

But Denmark, too, must heed his lustful gaze,

Its land so vast, a prize he plots to claim.

With deals they must accept, his power grows,

Backed not by words alone but arms in tow.

Some whisper blackmail, some may call it theft,

Yet so long as he gains, no shame is left.

And in his court, new faces take their place,

Yet something stirs—a stench one dares not face.

A musk pervades, a scent of power’s rise,

As men are swapped for code and soulless ties.

Algorithms now shall rule the land,

Decisions torn from thoughtful, human hands.

The hackers young, in shadows now remain,

Controlling all, their conquest swift, arcane.

For wealth alone dictates what shall survive,

The weak shall perish, only strong shall thrive.

The king demands the books be balanced clean,

And so, the cuts carve deep where life had been.

A musky scent—a kingdom built on greed,

Where public good must serve the rich man’s need.

What profits not, shall wither, cast away,

Replacing times when workers had their say.

The world reshaped by hands of silent kings,

Where walls rise high, and chains replace our wings.

A virtual truth shall mask what once was real,

And servitude shall wear a new appeal.

Intelligence itself will be replaced

Disconnected from the human face

Now technologically done, instead

Without a heart, relying only on the head.

No rules remain but those the rulers write,

The strong ascend, the weak fade into night.

And yet, fair maid Democracy still waits,

Exiled, but near—unyielding to her fate.

Forever ready to reclaim her stand,

And lead the people to their rightful land.

Where justice reigns, where voices rise once more,

Restoring hope, as once was known before.

To find a world that bends toward humanity,

Treading paths leading back to public sanity,

Rebuilding public trust, restoring unity—

Finding peace and harmony, within community.

Finn Bard III

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