- THE THRONE ROOM -

 Jacob Avlund

Surrounded by a raging blizzard
and a silence to match
the monarch's palace is tainted
with the usurper's gloomy schemes

Darkness enshrouds and sounds are to never be heard
the king is easily spotted
his body lying on the cold stone floor
soaked in his own blood, staring with a lost anger

The survivor of the struggle
bent with blade clenched tight
expressionless and mute
a place between hatred and sorrow

Thoughts of past events
hordes of children screaming
gallows and graves
a monk on fire falling to his demise

It's been a long day
a longer night
a forever to live
and a moment of purity and revenge

The monarch has risen again
blood spraying from a dozen wounds
trying to focus, trying to live
The attacker prepares for conflict:

"Bleak and shattered, on your hands and knees
Creeping for a vengeance thread
Originate in the distant horizon
Which'll last longer, your craving or yourself?"

Dagger high, and going towards
the very end of this royal tragedy
and almost the end, as well, for its
service in these angered hands

There is no more king,
the dirty work is over,
and the sounds of armed guards
replaces the final silence.

Oh, you'd smile too
if you could see
this knife's handle in my palm
and its blade in my throat.

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