The Despondent King

Story poem

With an aging crown and a heart heavy with need
The king sits atop his throne, needles at his feet
His body has never seen the labor of his lands
But all falls to whispers at the flick of his hand
He needn't shout or exclaim in an unseemly way
He only has to incline his head and quietly say

The hour has come when kingdoms fall to their knees
Our God has not answered our prayers or pleas

They wait for him to gnash his teeth and pull his silver hair
To rant at the Gods for taking his last living heir
They wait in strained silence, muddled whispers here and there
But no rage comes to pass, he simply sobs in his chair

With seven sons all gone, not a breath left to breathe
This tattered sovereign is beside himself with grief
Beneath his years of heartache his shoulders sag and bend
Hunching the back of a great man with a heart that will not mend

One son dropped in winter with a fever hot and thick
Young child unable to make it through the sick
Three fell in battle, cries slinging through the air
One met his demise by a maiden sly and fair
And yet another brought down to bury under greens
He was full of greed and envy and met with metal means
The last went down with ailments not known to man
It came on fast and hungry wasting him with it's demands

Upon the throne slumps a King, pain falling to his beard
Without a want to wipe away the shameless seeping tears
Wrinkles deepen in the shade of sorrow on his face
Mouth clamped tight for fear what slips would be disgrace
Within his broken heart of hearts he hears a lovers call
A tinkling bell of voice he knows most of all
Longing nearly breaking bones with the force of it's thrall
He heaves a sigh and stands above them in the hall
Whispers fade to silence, not a sigh escape their mouths
He tips his pitiful face towards the waiting crowd
One last strangled tear slips down into his frown
He opens his grief struck mouth but not a sound
Withered shoulders wrack with sobs barely restrained
He turns his back on them to better keep contained
Knuckles turn white from the might of all his strain
A despondent King who's hope doesn't remain

The End

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