This is a poem based off an original story that I have written recently, called "Throne of the Forest".
Its supposed to be a folklore type of story.
Instead of posting it as a story, however, I'm making it as a poem.
This is the first Canto, of an intended three.
Please enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Where I can make improvements.
Etc.
I:
A kingdom's death comes at the end of blood,
Staining fear guided hands of the fated king.
The family fled through famine and flood,
Alas, as cat chases mouse, no use in hiding.
They pleaded with the king, vowing no threat,
Bloodline will remain, under fealty to throne.
But old and wary, in fear of regret,
The king persisted, with heart of stone.
A lesson learned and lessons passed on,
To kin of those killed for their bloodline:
Of a king who hunts, and lands long gone,
Driven mad by prophecy, to murdering consign.
Blood of the innocent, pushed too far,
They finally turned, to fight for their kin.
Fears confirmed, the king called for war,
Armies once hidden, now bleed and skin.
Of iron in blood, now chains were made,
Settled on the king, as fate once warned.
To greet him were two, of the last to fade,
On their faces, mirthless smiles were adorned.
"Kingly one, or cowardly one, no more distinct,
Fear has haunted you, and shall further still."
Sneering, opening doors with arms interlinked,
And the king swept past, claiming his kill.
The room was empty, save an old man by a cot,
Where the sheets were empty and clean.
"How to hide something so no map can plot?
Hide it plainly, but in a world unseen.
Bloodline may dwindle, but my grandson lives,
Persist, o king, and the chains shall strangle."
The king now fearful, with murderous motives,
Searched to no avail, his fate now in tangle.
No name marked on cot or on parchment,
There was no sign of child in the halls.
Seemingly non-existent, but spies confident,
That the babe's cries once echoed these halls.
Whisked away by magic, far from the grasp,
Of armies and arms of the bloodthirsty king.
Prophecy drove the king eventually to his final rasp,
Many years later at the hands of the forest's king.
