It's back
The old urge
Thought I'd lost it
In a splurge
But it's back
And so I purge-
Sweeping sand across the land
A makeshift love, a peacetime hand
Grabs us, conscious, by our thrills
Brings becoming, leaves with hills
Across the Kingdom, on the mountain
The King is speaking in false latin
Casts a spell and parts the fields
A fireball burns off their yields
Wicked magic, from beyond
Hits, but he just whispers, yawns
Reverie eyes in still regret
Foaming lips are separate, wet
Skin is tarnished, smudged and blotted
Throne collapsed, flag is spotted
Falls to knees clutching his hilt
Calls to ease his maddened guilt
As doorway shatters, party enters
A rogue, a dwarf, and his old mentor
Behind them parts the lingering shadow
Wispy smoke, a man on saddle
Young and eager, when he left
News of death, the father wept
They meet now as he dismounts
Casts his cloak, and then he mouths
A lullaby they used to share
In times of splendor, grand and fair
From King's throat, a rasp, a remnant
Both men grasp their emerald pendants
When was this real, this love, this boy
When did his mind abandon joy?
Thinks back to when his wife died
Then Kingdom, all, except him, cried
His face just hardened, drawing back
Defenseless from this one attack
Now his people are his mules
Rebelling with their only tools
Against a tyrant, cold, disgusted
Not father, King, just soul encrusted
He shakes his head as son comes closer
Kneeling down, he clasps his shoulder
Looking up, weak and afraid
Like light, boy's eyes shine outward, brave
His son is weeping, son is crying
Knows he, now- his father's dying
With one last look into both eyes
The King does smile before he dies
A silence spreads, his friends are quiet
Heads cast down, this, none can fight it
Tears fall free to carpet, black
As son lifts father on his back
A journey takes him to the meadow
Through trees shine sunlight, soft and mellow
A prayer, a hymn, the country prays
As son kneels quiet at the graves
Grabs his sword, looks at the sky
He must now fly, he must now try