Work Text:
He is Apollo’s finest masterpiece,
his face planes of ungodly symmetry,
born in Fontaine from the cadence of his speech.
Words of his, firm benevolence, eclipse beauty.
He is no king, but he fosters the land.
Laws he makes aim to prosper the oppressed.
In court, prior to words, he slams his gavel loud,
“There’s a need to give ear to the bereft.”
Do I love his stellar light for its charm,
Or am I just refreshed by this allyship?
With the privilege soothing the low-born,
is it justice I love or he who secures it?
I yearn to be the tenant of his heart
to live in the very source of his warmth,
To be music, acoustic in his court,
The pulse that keeps him radiant and gallant.
For his attention, the battle is grim.
Sunniest of loves, blistering injustice.
I am both and I know what to gift him:
the bloom of this land, its everlasting peace.
I kill the tyrant king and crown the judge.
Icy and wintry, his verdict is guilty. I hold no grudge.