No More Did the King

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.