The Slayed King

  The tyrant on his gilded throne, Ignored the pleas, the tear, the groan. He sowed the seeds of bitter strife, And crushed the hope of common life. The crown that sat upon his head, Was stained with blood the innocent bled. His laughter rang in vaulted halls, While hunger gnawed at peasant walls. But shadows move in quiet ways, And whisper through the endless days. A farmer's son, a widow's child, Remembered all his scorn, so wild. They did not raise a mighty host, Or boast a strength that they could toast. Instead, a single, humble blade, A promise in the darkness made. That night the wind did howl and rage, As actors turned the final page. The wicked king, in fitful sleep, Had secrets that the shadows keep. A whisper first, then cold hard steel, A taste of what the masses feel. No fanfare for his final breath, Just silence and the coming of death. The scepter fell with hollow sound, And shattered on the tiled ground. The crown rolled from his lifeless head, Just one more evi...
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Beach Day

 

Beneath the vast and endless blue,

a soft, warm sand greets me anew.

The sea exhales a salty, misty breath,

that promises a peace defying death.


I walk the water's edge, where worries fade,

a shifting tapestry of sand displayed.

My bare feet sink with each rhythmic stride,

as the ocean's voice becomes my guide.


A chorus of crashing waves ascends,

like distant laughter from forgotten friends.

The seagulls call out, a wild and endless cry,

circling like poets in the sun-drenched sky.


I find a shell with pink and pearly gleam,

a tiny echo of an ancient dream.

It holds the ocean's hum, a gentle drum,

whispering worries, and leaving them numb.


The sun, a slow and heavy golden drop,

turns the sea to rose-gold, nearing its stop.

The light on the water shimmers and recedes,

leaving behind a trail of fleeting beads.


The horizon blurs where the vast world ends,

as the day's warm story gracefully descends.

With heart as full as the swelling tide,

I carry the sea's peace deep inside.


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