The Fallen King
Near a hallowed grave,
Under a clouded moon.
The lonely Minstrel plays,
A very somber tune.
The last resting place,
Of a fallen King.
Betrayed by royal blood,
He felt the dagger's sting.
His wicked son was crowned,
And now stood at the helm.
He clenched a tyrant's sword,
Which bore a tattered realm.
A cold blackened heart,
Bred his lust for power.
The Nobles it divided,
And left the people sour.
The endless wars that raged,
Would help destroy the land.
All armies laid to waste,
By his unyielding hand.
Poverty stricken masses,
Rose up to end his rule.
Their tolerance expired,
To endure his laws so cruel.
They fought with all their might,
But those efforts were in vain.
The hope of freedom quashed,
And he kept his bloody reign.
After years of vile neglect,
The walls came tumbling down.
This once mighty kingdom,
Would soon crash to the ground.
The Castle stones still remain,
But the legends are all gone.
Moonlight breaks through the clouds,
While the Minstrel plays on.
Copyright © Randy Freie | Year Posted 2023
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