Too late… Too late.
They had taken the bait.
β€œAway, away!β€œ
β€œKeep them at bay!”

A plot for the king to be overthrown.
Patter and crash upon cobblestone.
Silken sheets of rain do not tarry.
The realization of a king to be wary.

β€œI kneel!”
β€œI yield!”
β€œI abdicate!”
He could not retaliate.

Treachery abounded, a travesty.
β€œYou are now surrounded, your majesty!”
β€œSlash asunder, bundle of wheat…”
His aged bones crumble to their feet.

β€œThe deed is done!” Crimson painted the king’s brow.
They have wrought a certain fate upon themselves now.
β€œAs I knew, sweeter than milk of the bride.”
β€œIt feeds the tendrils of where my tiny soul may hide…”

β€œDrink all, drink all!”
They would not stall.
β€œDamn you all, drink!”
Closer to the brink.

Then, ethereal beings with startling shrillness.
Cursed. Murdered. Everlasting stillness.
A turn up comeuppance, over them they pour.
Their ephemeral beings, be no more.

Gone are they all…
They tumble, they fall…
To their fitting descent…
Too late to repent.

Β© Sayer Teller

 

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