Power

Do you feel the lust for power?
A desire, yearning to control.
To stand aloft amidst an army,
addressing from atop the knoll.

Flags adrift and rippling,
wind carrying your voice 'cross ranks,
you rightly lord it over all,
and crush resistance under tanks.

Watch the map be painted yours,
your designs and schemes enacted,
years of conquest, planned for decades,
endless warfare all protracted.

And once the dust has settled thick,
and your control is iron-clad,
would you have ever rather chosen,
to dominate instead a lad?

Armies at your beck and call,
effortlessly rule it all,
worlds crumble beneath your grin,
and yet you turn that power in.

All of your desires to rule,
all the things that you could do,
your endless options, kind or cruel,
channelled into one boy who
upon which you see battlefields,
upon his writhing body taut,
which you may conquer as he yields,
mind and soul, body and thought.

Why lay the land to waste, when you
with but a word can make him squirm?
What need for iron-fisted rule,
your beck'ning finger's just as firm.
Why plot to conquer dynasties,
when his surrender's far more fun.
Why command endless armies when,
he would obey and see it done?

Instead you hold him in your arms,
because to you that boy is worth,
to you – the planet's rightful ruler,
more to you even than the Earth.