Nightmare King

Slayeth away, busy King

along the crimson fields the warriors fell!

Tearing apart the darkening skies, the King raised his voice

above the din, bellowing like the call of the horn.


"Stay, my boys! Leave the way clear - the Champion is mine!"

Over the bodies he skipped merrily, traipsing over the pawns,

keenly focused,

on a legacy by the sword.


"Don't go m'lord! Come back, before it is past time!" the warriors brayed,

still the King did not attend - drawing his jeweled sword,

shining now in the evening sun, stained with fading stars


Above all others, he led his life plain,

conqueror among the conquerors,

till that fateful day, the day his Queen was besieged,


She kept the watch

watching the feral hordes writhe above the catacombs


Not in the tower, but at the front gate, urging the young men to fight

in his stead.

With sleight of hand,

She was taken by the Champion that day, with cold steel and heart alike,

the grounds full of blood and dust, patterned like the spray of a waterfall

upon every lifeless face,

He stood above her, the Champion, driving his sword into her gullet

while taking the King's place in her heaven,

and all that he ever held dear.


Almost succumbed under the haze of fever,

the King did see it all,

the fire in His eyes, wretched gnashing teeth, yes, a hole was made into his soul that day!

As the thunder raged, and lightning fell like tears,

an oath was taken - with no one around.

Vengeance, was the only compass of the King.


Now at the edges of sight, his men regaled in the muddy fields

knowing what was to come - the mighty King!

As he clashed his shield against his sword, the men shouted

on high: "Do not continue m'lord, you are consumed!"

Too late for the Champion, however - for he knelt by the end of the King's mercy


Screaming, screaming, the hordes did wail, beseeching the nightmare King,

strangely hollow now, the scene divides

the many seem so few, and the hills become cobblestone hallways,

"What sorcery betrays these eyes?" wondered the King, as the voices became tangible


Gazing down upon the Champion, he noticed the flames had become blue,

a continence much like his weighed upon the image below him,

weaving together the mists, he cleared his troubled mind, and now he recognized the enemy!

It was so clear now, like the harvest moon -

"This man is not my wife's killer, he is my son..."

"My son! My Son! How has this come to be?!"


The King, seeing his son's bloodied features sharp, did now retreat a few paces,

ceased only by the feet of his body stumbling into a unknown form just behind him:

It was only the body of his wife, the Queen...with a dagger lodged in her heart,

to the vision he gasped "My love, my love! What have I done?!"


Time now slowed forth...as if in a dream,

heaviness poured across his limbs swathed in the fear of what he had done

slow as molasses in the morning air,

as the the servants stood by, gazing upon the would-be-king

horror clear, the sound of flesh became muddled once more.


The call of the horns,

The call of the horns,

the cry of the falcon in the distant past,

the pall of summer on the winter's smile,

for times long ago he flailed about,

on the soft mossy banks of the lake,

allowing one final glimpse of what was,

a tapestry of love, now torn upon the rocks, his

standard in the thorny brambles,

and the cruel absoluteness of tender life,

now alone in the corner, two forms still,

while the shadows crept in...

"Ah!"

the King thought to himself...

...then what is the point of being young, if you cannot regret it?"