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The Many Mistakes of a King
He stands silent in the center of a bloody battlefield,
Holding a slender silver sword only a king could wield,
All around him are weeping spirits of the dead,
And tortured tears that should never have been shed.
Staring sorrowfully down at the bloody bodies and empty eyes,
He wished shamefully that he had been wise,
He thought back to the night before,
Recalled the difficult choice with which he had been bore.
One decision had rested upon his shoulders,
And when asked by the lords of the lands he had felt so much bolder,
When fully fed and surrounded securely by allies,
Defeat had sounded like mythical tales and vindictive lies.
But, whenever the sounds of armor and battle cries pierced the air,
His armies seemed so cold, naked, and bare,
The tang of blood teased his nose,
Little that of his foes.
He knew that this was the end,
Hopelessly, he realized that this was a mistake he could not mend,
Considering just throwing down his weapons and letting go,
He was about to let his terror show.
But, as the army arrogantly charged at the lone king,
He remembered what happiness that this cruel world could bring,
He closed his eyes and saw a face,
With beauty that could have been weaved from the finest silk or lace.
Her hair hang down to her feet in soft auburn curls,
Making the jagged barbed wire around his heart become unfurled.
Her brilliant blue eyes stared profoundly into his with love,
She looked like an elegant angel from the wonderful world above.
He knew that she was somewhere up there waiting eagerly for him,
And he knew that, last night, he hadn't austerely acted on whim,
He wanted to die,
He knew, because to her he could not lie.
In his vision, her face twisted into pain,
Everything that the king had ever done suddenly seemed to be ordained,
He saw, behind his agonized eyes, her death,
A sword that should have been sheathed.
The sword of he who had just murdered the kings entire army,
He who had taken away all of the worlds peace and harmony,
Fury shot through his veins,
Raising his sword above his head, he no longer felt hopeless and lame,
The king fought ferociously through the night,
It was a one against one thousand fight,
Every soldier that charged him were gruesomely destroyed,
Sent into Hadees' dark void.
And when the last man stood before the king,
And his enemy knew what blood he could bring,
He fell to the kings’ bloody feet,
Sweating heavily and white as a sheet,
He desperately begged and pleaded,
But no matter how hard he tried, in the end he never succeeded,
The king had no compassion left inside,
So he looked upon his enemy and he maliciously lied,
"Why don't you take it up with my wife?" He asked,
And in his enemies frightened confusion he basked,
"If my queen returns to me and says to set you free,
Then so it shall be."
The king smiled slyly, but did not smirk or laugh,
Inside the thought of his beautiful queen was cutting him in half,
His enemy looked terribly afraid,
And somewhat even ashamed,
"Call to her," The king said,
As he jerked his enemy up by the thick hair on his head,
"See if she answers you, she does not answer me!"
Find her, and I shall set you free!"
The king knew it was an impossible task,
But to spare his enemies life, this was all he could ask,
So the writhing man in front of him stood,
He stood as high as he possibly could,
He arched his back and let his voice ring around the clearing,
He called shakily, for he sensed the end of his life was nearing,
"Helen," he called her sweet name,
A name that would someday bring great fame,
After several lingering moments of this,
The king brought down his massive fist,
As the little man again fell to the ground,
The king abruptly heard a very different sound.
Someone stumbled behind him, falling over bodies many times,
They smelled of lavender and the world’s finest wines,
He would recognize that fragrance anywhere,
It was the scent of his lovely lady fair.
Long brown hair glinted in the corner of his eye,
As it blew beautifully in the wind, the king let out an unfathomable sigh,
He took in the appearance of her standing before him,
And the world no longer seemed so dim.
He was so happy that be started to cry,
And then he realized that he was about to die.
In her willowy hand, she held a rusty sword,
She stood with a fighting style known only to a lord,
"Get away from my husband!" She called,
But it wasn't to the right person at all,
She held her sword to the kings chest,
And he felt his heart skip a beat in his breast,
She wasn't cold and dead at all,
She had never had a final fall,
She had simply left him for another,
Someone he had once called brother.
"Please," He muttered painfully under his breath,
And then he felt the cold sting of death,
He heard two swords go through his torso,
A wound from different sides hurts even more so,
He breathed one last time,
But before he went blind,
He saw his queen run into the arms of another man,
And then he went still on, what was only a moment ago, his land.