Far away the heart lies
beneath the trumpets
played upon the lips of angels
whose shadows fall upon
hillsides buckling
beneath a coating of gold dust
and the glorious things
that have no home
upon this earth.

And drawn swords
drip blood amidst the
torment wrought by the power
of kings, while blinded eyes grasp the
silver coins of betrayal,
hoping to hide the mess
we have made of innocence
and the child who wears dynamite.

You foolish man who thought
these times could not find you;
who thought there was no price to pay;
but the piper now comes calling
with the trumpet tight upon his lips,
your arrogance is your poison:
fall upon your sword;
the child is your king.

– Mark Raffills, ‘The child is your king’, in Loved, Mis-Loved and Loved Again (Nelson: Phantom Press, 2008), 69.