4t!  Neptune Your cup is waterless, and bone dry, Master of the sea tumbling on your side like the defiant one. From a cold, lonely throne you ruled fools: subjects that carried gifts, on oceans far away, in exchange for protection. Yet how many ships did you pour from the cup? Abandon in the deep? The numbers overflow till belief itself is drowned- leaving you dead. Worship comes only from the little voices of metallic probes sailing pass your face. Like fish they feast on the corpse, not worrying nor fearing punishment- now that your subjects rule the Kingdom. Carlyle Miller 
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