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
He,who lies on my secrets and remorse,
Only unique to senses when by a chance he cares to please them,
He,who soars through one of many nights pursing teeth and claws against my swollen throat,
He,who lives from blood and guts,The one who says everything I need to know in times of doom,
He, Oh Lord of my deadliest sins,
Where's his wrath now that his crown is mine?
Wasn't his head tall and bright talking about war?
Now beheaded,like a kingdomless Conquerer,
I took the title of The Emperor of Darkness,
And beg for me he will,
In the depths of his guilt filled dreams,
Because not once he thought of me as his enemy.
The hole in my soul aches
Waking from nightmares
hoping god will take them away
Madness the veil of midnight across all I see
Wanting to see actual reality
In amongst it all
The physical and mental wall
Has ring fenced me in
The pale emperor is king
He is the ghost of all my sin
Taken from me is my soul within?
His gnarled and twisted skin
religions faith is wretched
Stretched out of shape
I look to love but all I get is hate
But maybe if I get to write my own book
Fate will abandon its cruel story for me
If it's not too late...
I wrote this because madness and depression have become a veil in which I can see through darkly and yet I want the power to change my fate.
The great Mughal emperor of 16th century,
He died of multiple ***** failure,
Comprising of the heart as well as others.
They say that he loose motioned his way to death,
Then the ancient emperor had got a heart seizure.
Dysentery had made the dying emperor weaker.
So yes, dying in old age can be a smelly affair.
My HP Poem #1119