Treachery Gone Afoul Get Low
I've spilled this cold chalice of bitter wine,
To let my blood flow over chosen ground.
A blade now sharp, shall be a slayer of mine.
This curse, by my treacherous heart you found.
A tortured duty for a lie composed.
It rots with dishonor because I've lied.
Betrayed your trust, my evil now exposed.
My flesh will decay, your life is now spared.
You'll rule this Kingdom with a royal hand.
Cruel departure, coat of arms we shared.
I die before you, never to command.
You call death now, to extinguish my sight.
I see in your eyes pain, with no delight.
contest Get Low
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015
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