Oops, you did that backwards!my last line is the gold chalice that you start with. And end with king palace line cause thats the first line
float thru this sun-stunned square, where people come
to chase the perfect selfie for a post;
I wait impatient till the rest are done.
They say he ruled with fire. I tap my screen,
and the statue looms grimly thereupon.
The tour guide drones about the tyrant's reign,
But I half listen, my eye on the sun,
Setting filters while some good light remains.
I pose just right, my hair immaculate,
And, before my battery can fully drain,
I smile nice and wide, and hope it will be great.
I frame the shot, his shadow on my dress;
History hums, but I like now the best.
The king gazed over his empty palace,
the toppled walls, the windows shattered blind.
No conquest laid it low, nor rival's malice,
but the dull neglect of forgetful hands.
No one recalls the strife to which he was born,
an age of tyrants waging petty wars.
He crushed his foes and overthrew their thrones,
bought a peace at the price of blood and scars.
His wars were won, and long he ruled in peace,
'til comforts clouded memories of wants.
His thankless people called his reign disgrace--
condemned his name, declared his triumphs scant.
A great king knows the weak will call him callous,
but frail fingers can't grip the gold chalice.
The king gazed over his empty palace
Shadows of the court no longer dancing
ruined remains of his call to malice
enemies dabbling in necromancy
what a wicked punishment to endure
eternities of death and emptiness
invading armies erasing borders
their one purpose to avenge the oppressed
encased in silence unable to rest
no life. No heat. But remnants of the spell
burned and looted so nothing would be left
No lessons for rulers to learn in hell
people pass through in fashionable clothes
mirages of life to glimpse as a ghost
Mirages of life I glimpse as a ghostfloat thru this sun-stunned square, where people come
to chase the perfect selfie for a post;
I wait impatient till the rest are done.
They say he ruled with fire. I tap my screen,
and the statue looms grimly thereupon.
The tour guide drones about the tyrant's reign,
But I half listen, my eye on the sun,
Setting filters while some good light remains.
I pose just right, my hair immaculate,
And, before my battery can fully drain,
I smile nice and wide, and hope it will be great.
I frame the shot, his shadow on my dress;
History hums, but I like now the best.
History hums, but I like now the best.
My finger thrums upon the countertop,
Down into hot water my teabag drops.
With warm woollen gown wrapped around my chest,
On a Sunday a day purely for rest.
In my small peace, profound thoughts come and stop:
”Why do we look up to old Kingly fops?
Was it just their rich style, the way they dressed?”
We have comforts that any King would seize.
Snug in sweater, where they crowd at the hearth,
Precise measures on the state of our hearts,
Our online realm of endless libraries,
Imported luxuries straight from the coast,
Each of us living lives no “King” can boast.
Each of us living lives, no king can boast
Gwenoleth, that the world belongs to them,
as our hearts beat together in the throws
of the impending doom we bring to him.
Eternity in hell is not enough
for pillaging his own empire's daughters.
Will you read this letter? Too many ifs...
If you are still alive when we get there,
If we get there, if you will still have me
when you see me, after all thats happened,
If you decide not to have his baby,
If you could go through with that, oh dear Gwen!
You will hear the drums thunder under breast
We can't change whats passed, we're cursed if not blessed
“We can't change what’s passed, we're cursed if not blessed”,
Spelled out in perfect script underneath art.
Fractured rubies spilling out from my chest,
Gemstones gleam from my corrupt impaled heart.
The cruel claymore glints in a scene so bright,
In spotlight’s glow, a sharp and violent streak.
In hands of righteous knight, clad in white light,
A sapphire tear stains my reflective cheek.
My emerald eyes fall upon the land,
To be claimed by another was its fate,
My gaze glazed over in window so grand,
Above a small quote to commemorate—
My fragile reign of a Kingdom of glass,
All that remains are fragments of the past.
In his last moment in pain, a king of glass
will shatter at the whisper he is wrong.
Martyred by a question, he sighs his last,
his sulking silence louder than a gong.
He boasts his strength and skill will never lack
while shouting over those more wise than he.
He delegates the tasks he won't attack,
and counts his presence as his industry.
He does the least, yet hungers for the praise;
Demands support while offering up none.
He rages when the world denies his claims,
and treats every "no" like a loaded gun.
Kingdoms rise and fall, the truth beneath is plain:
The crown of man is brittleness and blame.
The crown of man is brittleness and blame
Passed down through blood, genetically or shed
For some lineages those are the same
as accidents on purpose wind up dead
When does the madness begin to set in?
Mysteries surround how the first born died,
The head chef put to death for the poison
Naivety dismissed his patricide
One adolescents sick lust for power
His mother, afraid, submits to orders
Dissenters being locked in the tower
Praying to their lord to end his torture
A spell, a savior, a change of heart fast
Now is the time for truth and love to last
Now is the time for truth and love to last:
A vow as hollow as an unkept oath.
As said by those who know love's time is past;
by poets and statesmen, fluent liars both.
Our historians curate a golden fable,
by cutting out the truths we cannot face.
When legend smooths away the scars it's able,
it leaves us useful lies in their place.
Embalmed like saints and sinners who never lived,
our past's a prisoner of those who won.
They forged a truth to make themselves beloved;
we spread their lies long after fact has gone.
For truth and love this anthem I proclaim:
Let myths of virtue perish in honest shame.
Let myths of virtue perish in honest shame.
I writhe like a worm among dust and mud,
Thrashing the floor a pulpy mass of blood.
Pain my last tether after madness claimed
My name, my memories gone up in flame,
Along with truth, drowned in venomous flood.
Compressed, bound with chains and thrown with a —thud
As vicious snakes cannibalise my fame.
Way above in the screaming mad tower,
Millions of miles high, lies a tortured mind.
Though below it’s claimed they speak face to face,
With He or She, the ultimate power.
Giddy sheep look up with eyes ever blind,
Rapt in grace’s embrace, seeking solace.
Rapt in graces embrace, seeking solace,
the earth has once again regained its bloom.
Everyone who's left is in good spirits,
the smallest trace remains of noxious fumes
from whatever hex that witch had performed.
I almost can't believe how bad things got,
as if the skies themselves had mourned with storms
before the first battle was even fought.
Our kids play in the pastures free from fear,
monsters only in imagination,
I wish you could hear their laughter, my dear,
Your prolonged absence fuels my impatience
I never dreamed for a happy ending
Threads of life entwined, forever mending
Threads of life entwined, forever mending
Wound together building a foundation
Countless layers stacking and then blending
Each small step important for creation.
They start to form a tiny fragile heart
Then a brain and a spine wrapped up in skin
A nose, some eyes, lots of delicate parts
And curled digits at the end of each limb.
A pulse with heat; the heart begins to beat
Finally the little mind is awake
Floating in darkness and kicking its feet
Comfortable and safe 'til water breaks.
All of us smiled when we saw his face,
A life woven from particles in space.
A life woven from particles in space
seems as senseless as reason without mind.
The fear of those cast from our Paradise
still haunts the timid heart, ashamed and blind.
For the frightened soul cowers before the truth
of the luminous that underpins this dust:
Would rather dream itself as but a thing
than accept its basal sins are unjust.
The flame within us long outlives its clay,
and fools and wise men both reap as they sow.
For whether we acknowledge it or nay,
we reckon in the end with what we owe.
Pity those who merely see the seeming,
seeking their own purpose without meaning.
Seeking their own purpose, without meaning
to cross paths, kids chase balloons while adults
see history in the fields, careening
carts breeze oblivious to the occult
specter trailing their energy auras.
From dust we are born, to dust we return.
Countless cycles of fauna and flora
as the magma churns under the sun's burn.
And theres no end, as all disintegrates,
to desire and hunger, senses aflame.
Don't wait too late in life to purge your hate,
rejected by the same dust where you came.
A vicious swipe at a table, now his
pale frail fingers cant grip the gold chalice.
The king gazed over his empty palace,
the toppled walls, the windows shattered blind.
No conquest laid it low, nor rival's malice,
but the dull neglect of forgetful hands.
No one recalls the strife to which he was born,
an age of tyrants waging petty wars.
He crushed his foes and overthrew their thrones,
bought a peace at the price of blood and scars.
His wars were won, and long he ruled in peace,
'til comforts clouded memories of wants.
His thankless people called his reign disgrace--
condemned his name, declared his triumphs scant.
A great king knows the weak will call him callous,
but frail fingers can't grip the gold chalice.
Mirages of life to glimpse as a ghost;
History hums, but I like now the best.
Each of us living lives no King can boast,
we can't change what's passed, we're cursed if not blessed.
All that remains are fragments of the past,
the crown of man is brittleness and blame.
Now is the time for truth and love to last,
let myths of virtue perish in honest shame.
Rapt in grace’s embrace, seeking solace,
threads of life entwined, forever mending.
A life woven from particles in space,
seeking their own purpose without meaning.
Pale frail fingers cant grip the gold chalice,
the king gazed over his empty palace.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches