music fills the air as blood flows like wine;
and from its lips tells the tragedy
of the mothers and children
who were mercilessly slain
by the old man that controlled the riverbed.
broken promises and a family carved from vengeance
thus sealed the fate of the family who came from
the breath of the wolf’s mighty song.
They fought so valiantly
they were so close to victory that they felt her
breath on their lips.
Such is the tragedy of hubris and wretched passions
As the music reaches its crescendo,
it fills the silence of the screams
that were strangled in the throats
of the mother to be,
the child to be,
the son and father they called king
and the mother
whose very eyes spoke of untold horrors
and heartaches
—
this is the symphony of tragedy;
it does not mean to move,
only means to leave the audience
to shake and tremble,
to weep and to grieve;
in the symphony of tragedy,
no sins are absolved,
no justice is served,
only tragedy reigns at the throne.