Five a.m. air, cool and dark
Cloaks the Royal guard as he sleeps
At his post.
I run past,
Aware
Of the limp M-16
Resting against his leg
As somewhere beyond him
The newly crowned king
Stirs in his sleep
Troubled by dreams
That hint,
That allude,
To inertia
Unrest...
A trigger cocked.
His patient enemies
Rely on sleeping guards
To sleep a little longer.
All of them,
Waiting
For the day
To break
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