Auto-narchy

Poem Title: ''Auto-narchy''
By Anish O Cornel
---To the foxes upon the throne--

I
Auto-narchy
The year of self!
Self song, singing in discord,
with chords dunked for self-pleasure.
And the party of self begun in a land of discord.
...
II
Auto-narchy
The crudest and wildest verse, Riding from an old form of the, single-self (the oldish monarchy),
And now to ev'ry self who cares For naught but self.

And like the old King-wanderer, That makes his son King: and, Likewise the son his son the same, So does auto-narchy.

At first, he his no king by the, nature of the monarchichal. No throne by the nature of the Monarchichal! But his name is as the king. His sit, as the king, and wherever he is, he does not wish to stand. And e'en when he finally does, his son takes his place. Many are like him in this High-land who loathe to have strangers net on their tilde.


III
Auto-narchy,
In whose art Harmony languishes in craggy stultifications!
And Dead musics in off-beats upon the cymbal-racks of murderous noise!

Self plays for self while his rhythms and mythms acupunture the rhyme of death against the suffering pleasures of other selfs
and a great ptomaine doth plague by dribbling phrasings in the land of bliss

IV
In catacombs of power be foxes, Sealed, to which tapsters 'temp to lodge, thro' subtle tempos.

And those that enter shall install briars and barricades to kill the steps of others so that the road that lungs and narrows down to It wards is but spiked and thorned by them and we that long as some Old bearded John would, long but in vain.

E'en some that rise to fight thro' this road, only do,
not for us, but for themselves
and everybody is rising to fight-not for everybody, but for themselves.

And all songs are anti-ochestrated; reasoned in plenteous seasoning of self's diminish.
Poly-chords and tones in dissimilar poles, for self and self. The sound of hell in damned cells

And so, that the music of the land lacks harmony makes disunity the anthem of everyday!

To you and to me,
To ev'ry single-one dispersed to their-selves,
Let us sing in one against auto-narchy, with hearts puffed of peppery blood

Let's march to time,
And not in off-time,
Not for us, but for everybody;
For this is when the light of change,
In clear heads, against coated-skin Shall shine!

WARNING: Dear reader, you are implored not to copy this poem as you own, thereby committing the unlawful act called 'plagiarism'. Rather, ensure that you acknowledge whatever is taken from it. God bless Nigeria and every other nations of the world.