Randy Freie Poet Rhyme

The Court of the Crimson King

The tortured remnants of horrors past,
ancient catacombs, collect their bones.
Marbled halls, stifle anguished screams,
amidst horrid, human honeycombs.

Haggard hearts heavy, must levy,
who's next to be fodder, for the feast.
Their ragged remains, that stain, still remain,
and lies empty, in the belly, of the beast.

"Woe to the weary," whiplashed whelps,
who must pick and choose, in death filled rings.
Sweet molasses, calloused classes,
still, must be vetted, by the King.

As for the King and his Court, no retort,
to their whims, that swim, in sorrowful silence.
They refuse to consort, as constructs support,
that the Crimson King...resorted to violence.

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Timothy Ray October 2, 2026 at 10:13 PM the depth of evil has a domain, cosmic entropy of continuous irreversible disorder and line by line we feel fate fast approaching....excellent Randy Freie October 2, 2026 at 10:54 PM Thank you Sir, I was just listening to King Crimson's, "The Court of the Crimson King," on my classic rock's music channel, and thought it would make a great title for a poem. I knew before I wrote it, exactly where I wanted it to go. It could also reflect the current state of unrest around the world.