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The King of Ashes
Let me tell you some tales
Of spilled entrails
Of shattered parts,
And broken hearts,
About a man known to the masses
As The King of Ashes.
He wasn’t always known as this,
For he was once full of bliss,
Until his love lost her life,
And filled him with strife.
Silently he mourned for years,
Filling his house with crystal tears.
He searched for ways to save her,
He even turned to a false savior.
He held her bones by his bed,
Wishing he was the one dead.
His mind, with thoughts, began to teem,
And he began to build a time machine.
His house was filled with machine parts,
Sprockets and springs, and cogs with hearts.
His project was a labor of love,
For the one taken above.
By the time it was finished,
His health had languished.
He stepped inside and pulled a lever,
His craftsmanship was certainly clever,
The cogs and gears let out a whir,
As time around him began to stir.
Silently he set the date,
And patiently began to wait.
All around the lights did beam,
And time moved past him like a stream.
He sat silently for a while,
Then cracked his crooked smile.
Time had bowed to him,
And catered to his very whim.
The machine was built tall and strong,
But it was taking far too long.
He reached for a dial,
And turned it a mile.
The machine responded
And with time bonded.
Time now was now racing,
Calmly he began pacing.
His patience finally reaching its end,
His own machine he began to rend.
He smashed a pipe and it let out a scream,
Burning his face with blistering steam.
The machine began to shake violently,
Trapped inside, losing his sanity,
He had a shot to try once move,
With all his might he forced the door.
As it burst open his machine ended its flight,
And he found himself in the days of the knight.
In awe he looked all around,
He saw chickens quietly pecking the ground,
And farmers tending to their crops,
And barkeeps wringing out their mops.
He suddenly flew into rage,
For he had landed in the wrong Age.
A knight paraded into town,
And gave the peasants a nasty frown.
He took their food and coins of gold,
Leaving them with nothing but mold.
The peasants moped around covered in grime,
They said he did this every time.
The man we know as the King of Ashes,
Took his chance and confronted the masses.
He took a place upon a cart,
And yelled to the peasants to do their part,
He claimed the revolution could not wait,
But nobody saw his eyes of hate.
The people of the town rallied behind him,
And began to sing their battle hymn.
They sang of tyranny and justice,
Hoping to shake the world from its axis,
Triumphantly the marched to the castle,
Knowing the guard would be a hassle.
The guard had fought with tremendous valor,
As blood ran the streets like crimson cider.
Soon enough the castle was over ran,
And the peasants cheered for the man.
They went to the king that caused their strife,
And violently they ended his life.
The peasants cheered and crowned the man,
For coming up with the master plan.
He victoriously took the throne,
And then demanded to be left alone.
Joyously they left his new halls,
With the blood still splattered across the walls.
There he sat, the King of Ashes,
Amongst the dead guards and broken axes,
Shattered shields and beaten swords,
The fallen farmers and armored warlords.
But one more things, did transpire.
He caught a glimpse of fire.
He struck in the night,
Knowing there’d be no fight,
He torched their wooden houses,
And smashed their drinking glasses,
He left the livestock to drown,
And sent destruction all around.
The town folk awoke in shock,
They ran to him trying to talk,
But he felt no mercy,
for he lost his sanity.
In madness he burnt their town,
And cut every living thing down.
He did this again to another small village,
Where robbers were know to frequently pillage.
He convinced them to take up arms,
To cry out as one and raise their alarms.
He had saved yet another town,
Then out of insanity burnt it down.
After years the land around him was scorched,
Everything for miles was charred and torched.
Upon the map was a black mark,
That was full of ashes and eternal dark.
And in its center there was a throne,
Where the King of Ashes sat all alone.
People tried to kill the King of Ashes,
With study cross bows and glittering axes,
But fear would take them before they arrived,
And madness made sure that nobody survived.
As anyone who travelled his land would find,
That, even they, had lost their mind.
The King of Ashes silently grew old,
And his castle began to fill with mold.
He took up a crooked knife,
And skillfully ended his life.
The blood trickled to the floor.
The King of Ashes, was no more.
But rumors say around his corpse,
Men still scream and time still warps.
He had given his loved his very best,
and now he finally laid to rest.
He and his love together again,
They lived together in a celestial glen.
Now you know the true story,
Of deaths and battles most gory,
Of how he lost his love and mind,
And how he convinced time itself to unwind.
Remember the man known by the masses,
Simply as, The King of Ashes