Of storm and chaos and desire,
The King shall be born and fed,
Destined to reveal such power,
That's known not to mortal men.
His cradle shall be a shield,
The King shall cry in it alone,
A sword his toddler hand shall wield,
Pain shall be his early throne.
His parents will be his killers,
Poison shall be mothers milk,
Gravestones will be ornate mirrors,
Thorns and iron will be silk.
He'll never know no gold nor kingdom,
He'll never know no woman's love!
His bethrothed a firey demon,
His enemy- God above!
His master shall be The Raven,
Carrying a ring of gold,
It's wings show the only way and,
Keys to the throne of old.
His servants will be all men and women,
Yet no kingdom he will rule,
His courts empty, no one in them,
He's his own squire, page and fool.
The Raven king shall spread his wings,
Yet the blind will call it war,
The storm that his crown will bring,
It brewed in the planet's core.
He'll never rest nor stop ascending,
He'll never know but grief and pain,
But he will be unrelenting,
The King of his soul and his name!
A poem about acheiving one's true potential through hardship
