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 Dying Castle

 

The ivy's green, a slow and silent thief,

Has claimed the stones of glory and of grief.

The crenellated edges, sharp and high,

Are soft with moss beneath a weeping sky.

The mighty gate, where banners used to fly,

Now frames a vista where the seasons die.

The drawbridge rusts, a severed, useless arm,

No longer guarding from a world of harm.


The wind sings low through arrow-slitted cracks,

Recalling ghosts of long-forgotten attacks.

The grand banqueting hall, so vast and wide,

Has only dust and silent shade inside.

The carved and gilded windows, now shattered they are,

Allow the rain to wash the broken vow

Of endless rule, of power's endless boast,

And leave behind a melancholy ghost.


The spiral stair, a spine of solid stone,

Leads up nowhere, empty and alone.

The vaulted roof, where once a fire burned,

Is open now, for stars to be discerned.

A story told in whispers, slow and deep,

While generations sow and fall and sleep.

And in the quiet, where the lichens creep,

The ancient, stone-cold secrets it will keep.


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