EuryalEve
An evil king, draped in cold decay,
Found a flower blooming in his way.
Soft and meek, yet stubbornly bright,
It shone through his realm, defying night.
The king, enthralled, began to bend,
His twisted will no longer pretend.
He watched, he plotted, he pulled each string-
A god disguised in suffering.
With blood on hands and love on tongue,
He played his part, the song he sung.
"I weep," he lied, "for I am weak..."
Yet sought to own the flower's cheek.
But can a king, drunk on desire,
Hold a bloom that sings in fire?
Can he defy his crumbling throne-
His flesh, his kin, his past unknown?
For even kings, with all their might,
Will lose to love that won't ignite.
And flowers-though gentle in the breeze-
Can bring the cruelest kings to knees.