The siege

The Siege


As armies march towards the castle
With dogs of war and steel blades
On top of horses dark and gracile
Lit by the moon, sinister shades

They bring the pain, the guilt and sorrow
Envenomed in their very blood
And if the castle falls by morrow
Unleash them in a poisoned flood.

There were no archers in the tower,
No guards outside to bar the gate,
Only the master left to cower
Awaiting his ungodly fate.

His crown has lost its royal glitter,
His purple mantle was a rag.
He forced himself to smile, bitter.
He was a beggar with no flag.

Beneath the throne a hidden passage.
Beside it, a frail wooden stick.
To gather all that he can salvage?
To stay and try to do a trick?

There was no more time to ponder.
His hand reached for the wooden stick
And much to his amazing wonder
He held a scepter in his grip.

Beggar no more but king reborned
He floated up into the heavens
And pictured his castle adorned.
Slowly regained the right of leaven.

As bright light beamed through the main hall
The armies blew horns of retreat.
The fortress yet again stands tall.
Sorrow accepted defeat.