Dream-Cloaked Prophecy

It was a fantasy,
a hateful dream.
Like ashes of another time.
Kingdoms and war

I was crowned with blood
in my throne of corspes·
their rotten doom 
is stinking still

Power tends to birth a veil,
and in its shadow I fell, and broke,
collapsed and turned 
to pieces.
Never knew i was fragile.

My insides spilled on the floor
And no one picked me up
They stood there, gazing upon me
upon my sickness

I could hear the castle's murmurs
"He is going to die".
And its voice was dressed not in grief,
but hope.
They enjoyed the smell of my blood.

The marble floor is now stained
and I can feel myself fading.
I start to melt inside there
And they are standing,
still gazing, 
still hoping

The court was smiling
and the coronation chambers 
that once haloed me with all my eulogies,
are now bitting,
smothering me,
screaming otherwordly names.

My walls and sheets, 
the floor is stabbing me
with that filthy dagger.
As if I'm not the One here,
I stand in a worldless place·
what a vicious enemy.

I saw no light.
Closing my eyes,
"triumph" I heard-
it echoed in my ears dearly,
it sounded like a scream. 

There are no stained laurels around my forehead anymore,
but I learned the evansescence of it all. 
No crimson and no gold
can stop them now.
I am cloaked in misery.

I cannot win.
It left a mark,
for centuries.

It's not a dream-
I once ruled this stinking hole.


And I'm dying again.

Tags: Abstract, Imagery, Hate, Dark, Pain, Hope, Metaphor, Sad,