Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.45

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

The king was incandescent,
In the brocades and creped damasks,
His knights and his attendants 
All surrounded his gilt throne.

A multitude was gathered,
For the seasonal oration,
Warming sons and fathers
By his sure and sovereign tone.

The king was still at speaking,
When the son entered the palace,
With his retinue and meaning,
So the people turned to see.

The son, he uttered nothing,
But stood waiting for his moment,
The king stuttering his telling,
Told the instability.

Studded gold and diamonds 
Graced his chain of office,
He looked from the medallion 
To the son who was the heir.

He’d tried to give his scion
The respect for the appointment,
Was everything a cipher,
But a thing to bring despair?

The son banged on a table,
In a growing faster rhythm,
So the king commanded able 
Men to step and defend.

The son left in defiance,
Knights and others, too, departed,
And the stones echoed the silence
Of the beginning of the end.

Around a corner of the palace,  
Beyond hearing, down a hallway,
The salvers and the chalices  
Were clanging for the feast.

A servant and her daughter, 
The girl was only seven, 
Were among the cooks and slaughterers,  
Of fish and fowl and beast.

Nearly overladen platters 
Left the kitchen for the gentlemen
Who will argue burghal matters,
But will drink until it's moot.

The girl saw fascinated,
That a single seed bounced at her,
The cook said, "you can eat it",
As he knifed the bloody fruit.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required