29 October 2012
I've been working on this one for a while and was recently able to finish it thanks to some inspiration from #Blueblotts (#EndofDays).
The August Lord sat on his broken throne, alone with only time His sword and shield upon the ground, coated with dust and grime. His people forgotten, captured, or killed; their fields turned into dust His armies scattered, slain, or fled; their weapons lined with rust. . . . The war had come, as all wars do, with crowds and cheers and fervor But soon the citizens began to see that war was mass-scale murder. The people cried as their hope died, but the war was not contained The enemy slew the valiant few and captured those who remained. . . . Champions rose and went to fight, yet were time and again cast down The foe came in, they crushed each home and scattered every town. "We yield! We yield!" the August Lord cried, yet peace was not to be "We yield! We yield!" the August Lord cried, "Please end this butchery." . . . So now he sat, this landless Lord, with nothing to his name The foe had taken all he had and left when nothing remained. "My only task was to keep them safe" he said as he sat alone My only task, and yet I failed, and now they have no home". . . . As the flames that burned across the land cast soot into the sky The August Lord saw the faintest gleam at the corner of his eye. One small child, a girl of eight, had come before the Lord One small child, and in her hand, his cast-down shield and sword. . . . "Great king, my friends and family have all been slain like cattle So here I am to fight your war, though I know naught of battle. I have no weapons but these I found, there lying in the dust I have no skill at arms to fight, yet still I feel I must." . . . The great king saw this lonely child and the pain inside her heart And though he knew the war was lost, saw the chance for a restart. "Brave young child, I see the flame of life is held in you And so, brave child, flee from this place! You must go and start anew". . . . And thus the Lord took up his sword and marched once more to fight His battle cry, heard far and wide, still echoes in the night. Although his land and life upon the battlefield were lost He knew that for the brave young child, he would pay any cost. . . . Now here the tale would seem to end, were it not for that one soul For through that child, the king lives on and his story still is told.
Seasonal Royalty • Opuss № I