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The chandeliers drip ruby-colored
droplets from their crystals,
while down below stand the remnants
of political overthrow.
The recently crimson silk tablecloth
drapes o’er the fateful dinner table
whence came the man, the monster,
who at the table’s head commands.
He faces the coat of arms
placed proudly for all to see,
and counts the chairs in the hall
occupied by slumped, lifeless figures.
A prince, 3 dukes, and a duchess
are the only identifiable visages
among the torn and shredded royalty
who lie face down in their plates.
The man in sheep’s clothing,
who now wears the king’s fine jewels,
licks his sanguine lips in triumph
at his masterful coup d’état.
He drank their blood and
their power, in one fell swoop,
and cut down the royal family tree,
which will bleed tears forever more.