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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The Treacherous Court

 

Upon the high-arched galleries, the whisper starts,

A venom meant for unsuspecting hearts.

Amidst the jewels and tapestries, a sigh,

The silent dagger of a jealous eye.

The courtier's smile is polished, bright, and grand,

The poisoned cup held firm within his hand.

He offers praises like a gilded key,

And speaks of loyalty with treacherous eyes.


The queen, a portrait framed in silk and lace,

Knows not the wolves that haunt her sacred space.

Her trusted confidante, with honeyed tone,

Has sought for years to claim her ivory throne.

The prince, her brother, whispers to the guard,

With promises that leave his virtue scarred.

The bloodline cracks, the royal house divides,

By whispered lies and shifting, treacherous tides.


The banquet hall, a feast of glinting knives,

Where every gesture plans a thousand lives.

The jester, with his bells and painted face,

Sees truth in shadows others can't embrace.

He sees the hands that touch and then withdraw,

The shifting eyes that break the gilded law.

For trust is just a ladder, steep and high,

From which a friend will push you down to die.


The King, so sure his power is supreme,

Awakens from a long and golden dream.

To see the courtiers in their fine array,

And knows they kneel for him, but wait to prey.

He feels the chill of treason's icy breath,

A loyalty repaid with certain death.

The whispers fade, the smiles are now a mask,

And each new day presents a deadly task.


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