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...

The Bickers

 


She places down the teacup with a clatter,

A silent prelude to what doesn't matter.

He clears his throat and rustles at the news,

The stage is set for half-forgotten cues.

It wasn't malice, nor a weighty wrong,

Just simmering resentment, low and long,

About a comment made a week ago,

A careless phrase that set the buried glow.


She mentions bills, and with a feigned surprise,

He sees the ancient battle in her eyes.

He talks of weather, with a practiced drone,

As if the fight were hers and hers alone.

The living room, a field of bitter truce,

Their conversation, careful and obtuse,

Each phrase a coded, passive-aggressive jab,

A tiny cut, a weary, silent stab.


The dog sleeps soundly, used to all the noise,

This rhythm of their small domestic joys

And bitter hurts, a well-worn, common thread,

A tapestry of things they've left unsaid.

At last, a silence, brittle, hard, and thin,

The only sound, the clock's insistent din.

A chasm forms where once a touch would be,

He reads his paper, and she sips her tea.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hope

Summer by Adel J. Cardor

Thanksgiving Cheer