Aphelion

Thanks Eddie, and curse you on the coming Hallo'd night, may the spirits mingle with your thoughts for in inspiration the debt must be paid...
***

Power

In a bag most revered lays mans power.
A seed hidden to show his might.

Money has no stead nor its colored cloth to clean the mess
Land is but dirt
Politics; rendered fat gone rancid
and yet?

A pole, a staff, be it limp or erect; rooted in a bag most revered lays mans power
at least in a mans head...
If only, if so, if, if, if the flag flew atop it would be white and one of surrender.
Why?

It is the maiden hood that rules instead.
Subtle terrain, hidden, dark; cavern of desire filled with horror or horrors - pleasure...
and yet?

A gift from and for her, as it always is
in the end, females rule the battlefield...
Power?
y-e-s
even if the bag is old, withered, and feeble leaving a castrated male subservient
souls of power within,
as a gift given to his mate,
the woman always wins.