There once was a Nobel King, of red black and gold.
Now of age 15, his name has become old.
Harold Dawson a name of the past.
The red King the name that shall last.
The war with the 2nd has come to a close.
Hells victory leaving the people with hope.
But from the 4th came a cry of war.
Which steadily turned into a collective roar.
Our king answered with the same cry.
And the war raged on till our land was dry.
Our cash was short, our weaponry down.
Yet our king continued fighting, bearing the weight of his crown.
A monster.
A beast.
A broken man.
No platform would offer a hand.
This was Hell's fight, they choose to partake.
It's their fault for taking an opportunity of fate.
The war was long, countless good demons died.
But Hell refused to fall, to the 4th platforms lies.
Our king made a plan.
Of blood, gore, and pain.
And this plan did work, at the cost of his name.
A title he earned.
As his sword cut through the Glen.
Killing the king of Desspred.
His suit stained in red.
As he stood up top the battlefield.
Drenched in the fallen king's blood.
The people shuttered the name.
Of honour and fear.
The red King, the battlefields puppeteer.
YOU ARE READING
The Story Of The Red King
Poesia"Our Former King Harold Dawson recites his time as king through poetry" The Red King is a "children's" poetry book taking place inside the world of Hellbent following the tales of Harold Dawson and his past.
