Once a little swain, Time has passed.
Chaos and Order, like petal drifting lake;
An Emperor of the east.
A thought to move millions,
A finger to predestine the people.
At the end, The peak resemble my hometown,
People have move, merchant comes and goes;
A place carved from ancient painting.
Serving the people is my duty,
Earth Beneath, Heaven encompassing;
Jaded life is now willow in winter.
Burning crosses, swarming birds
City in flames, anti-Christ stirred
You're far from being a hero
My dear Nero.
Motherly omens, fiddle music
Jealous rage, killing cupid
When will your reign end,
My haunted friend?
An angry senate, an empty boat
A mad man stabbed in the throat
By his own hand, by his own wish
I want your head served on a dish.
This is your bloodbath, Emperor
Hell is now you empire.
The emperor’s dinner was served.
Finally cooked fresh fish tonight.
And when the emperor had finished,
He felt perfectly alright.
Later the emperor felt queasy.
The pain in his chest was dull.
As he fell in a faint,
His stomach was unbearably full.
The emperor lay on the ground.
Trying to breathe with all his might.
In the end all he could do
Was accept he could see the light.
As the emperor lay dying
And contemplating his fate.
Servants raced to find the poisoned food.
But alas, they wouldn’t. It was the plate.
I was given the prompt 'plate' by a friend and this was the first thing my mind came up with :)
A fire rages atop crumbling walls.
there is none left to stop
the smoke that fills these halls.
Shackles burn off of those
thrown through unjust pain
this inferno shall burn
the last of some God's bane
to their cold sin.
The icen emperor has fallen gravely ill,
so the smiling flame still burns on,
the final reminder of his will.
icen, like icy but en. I find it odd to have an adjective ending in "Y" to be in the middle of a line. It does not sound right or proper to me. I feel it belongs more at the end of lines.
If you want to figure out what it's about, don't read this. It's about a sickly king dealing with a "god" whether it was an actual God, Devil, or coincidence, and a fire burns through the city, freeing slaves and righting all of his other misdeeds as emperor.
An emperor spoke in poetic verse
Which led to fame for him at first
But after some time became a curse
For the emperor had no prose.
Poetic measure determined his fate
The body politic could not relate
Leaving people in a befuddled state
Yes the Emperor had no prose.
Seeking solutions from all his wise men
Beseeching them each again and again
"When will poetic proclivity end?
For I'm the Emperor and have no prose!"
Long and hard the wise men thought
With no answers to the solutions sought
So they hemmed and hawed, yelled, argued and fought,
Still the Emperor had no prose.
The Emperor ended his quest in time
No cure for his affliction could he find
Relinquished the throne and became a mime
At least he was able to pose!
4/26/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Night wind scales,
Must I ****,
Explaination-The Emperor kills his mistress.
The winds of autumn,
The Emperor's robe flutter.
The storms of spring,
His heart's in anger.
The frost of winter,
A thousand men dies.
The warmth of summer,
Peace for mankind.
Explaination-The Emperor control's the fate of his people like a god.
Dressed in steel,
Spear in hand,
The general conquers in four directions.
Dressed in law,
Brush in hand,
The minister governs all ranks of men.
Dressed in Gold,
Wine in hand,
The Emperor watches as his empire grow.
Ah, but is this not the way of the world.
they ordered to tell a poetry
about tat beauty
who would come
i prepared and reminded
but i didn't tell
because the raw of poets
were so long
i sat out
i forgot the time
one sat beside
i looked toward
she said awful poet
all wanted me to admire
the love is emperor
it would be the governor
of every heart of lover
i laughed and took the poetry
i cut it it in small way
i said one word
if you were not admired
who could else be admired
no i ran
because, i was prison
one meets one, but can love creates