Soldier, Poet, King
I sway my blade to avenge the lost,
the land our people brought to life.
For their mistakes, I paid the cost
the day I found the strength to write.
Now I wander through past and time,
with words I cure the ones who frown.
Their doleful eyes were lit by rhyme
the day I found the golden crown.
My castle shines with light and glory.
I lead my people on their own accord.
Remember my life and its wonderful story..
The day I found the mighty sword.
The smell of fresh air flowing through my body.
I can hear the birds singing to the sun.
People are walking, chatting, and laughing.
And I'm standing on a cloud, pretending that I won.
A tragedy so tense and lost,
with no feelling I wait in the dark.
So far up, on a cloud in the sky.
Waiting to be pushed by that never-ending spark.
So I wonder as I fall,
comets flying by my head.
Things I used to love,
now are welcomed by the dead.
I can feel the breeze
getting more and more intense.
People who were laughing
now are dim and dense.
And I hope for a world where there is no violence.
Where I can be free, with no sorrow or misery.
But in the end, there was none of it at all.
Just a thought inside my head; the impact of the fall.
Amidst the golden sun
and the trail of shining stars,
I steal glances of your face,
the beauty in your eyes.
Beneath your silken skin,
there lies alluring heart.
The way you hold my hand,
so we never stay apart.
I adore your acts of kindness,
the feeling of your touch.
Promise not to leave me,
I need you way too much.
For you to hold me in your arms
I'll beg the angels up above..
As my soul will only yearn for
the blessing of your love.
The malediction far within
Cords around my neck,
subtle pain inside the heart.
Waiting to bleed out,
as I tear my veins apart.
My skin is turning blue,
tight feeling in my chest.
Tears are falling down
as my soul implores for rest.
Now shivers keep me warm,
words killing me each second.
Begging God to keep me calm,
thus my soul restrains from reckon.
Shallow sounds of my breath
keep me sane through this pain.
With open arms, await death,
to plead for life that's not in vain.
Tied hands and burning sins,
which none do resentence.
Wasting life by paying the price
for each part of your sentence.
As my honour dies, side by side,
I'll take your part in the play.
With no remorse, make a stride,
before I sign my name away.
Soothing my eyes by living the past
while heaven takes away my breath.
The cost of your lies made me realise,
this was a sentence far worse than death.
Lone painter’s trial
I've been flooded by a rainy cloud,
thoughts all scattered, ruined alive.
Word by word, they tear my face.
Scarred cheeks, no light trace.
So I stare cold, eyes upon,
looking at my picture place.
Trying not to shade the sun,
let them paint my sorrow gaze.
And I've been waiting thus all day,
for these words to die at bay.
Yet no one seems to cut the flame,
left to burn, in my own frame.
The point of no return
The amort man will never know.
He'll stay asunder like a doll.
To aphonic voices of the clocks,
in this endless paradox.
His dulcet soul, athirst for lies,
will keep his mind entertained.
The awful feeling in his chest;
a way for God to keep him sane.
To end this vile madness,
his sins must cease and burn.
Before he reaches dire sadness,
the crucial point of no return.