I - Captured King
THE CHRONICLE OF THE BLOOD-FILLED CROWN
I: Captured King
Alas, the last flag-bearer has perished.
Everything burns a land I once cherished.
I am dragged, my arms chained and my feet bound;
The armor of the malevolent guards making a ringing sound.
Almost like a bell
Or perhaps Death rings his knell.
I am dropped in front of a thrown I once owned.
Upon it sat an enemy his face as hard as stone.
Slowly, the stone-hard face cracks a sneer.
No room for hope, only fear.
Oh, and to think he was once my son!
No longer, no more this war he has won.
His face was one that I held dear.
Once he was a babe, his face tear-smeared.
His mother would calm him and make him smile.
How could he bestow on her a fate so vile?
Beneath his sword, she did fall
Her head now mounted on his trophy wall.
I named him Peace, which he changed to War.
All havoc reeked from his evil core.
And my two daughters, Love and Lust,
One escaped, the other ground to dust.
And his brothe