Written In The Stories They Wove

The love of a king and queen is a known as told by kingdoms they rule,
With courted gestures and elicited caresses in the dark.
Never to shy away from the public’s eye, but cautioned to falsely advertise.
And the boys grow into men there are too young to understand,
Taught at an early age to respect nothing and take what is theirs by right,
A trait found among the cruelest of gods and kings.
His queen, in name only, becomes the most sought after woman.
Blessed with a mind that sees not her broken heart,
Her mind resting heavy under the weight of a consuming crown.

So the queen grows into a woman ashamed of love
And grows accustomed to fleeting gestures of ill bent romance,
Then his majesty grows bolder with power
Because that he thinks captured the heart of a secluded princess,
And now seeks to conquer the other fair maidens hearts.
So their tortured romance takes the form of envy and politic warfare
Leaving both to stitch the wounds and mend the scars,
Dancing under the watchful eye of the prying citizens.

And kings are immortal in the stories they leave behind,
For better or worse, remembered in the vague details of their dynasties.
Their queens washed away in mistresses and death.
Yet still their story remind written in the tales of time,
Meant as a tale to those bent towards death and immortality,
Broken by the tests of everything in between.
From the ashes they rise with clear morals and heavy hearts
Only to repeat the story of the king and queens before,
Stuck in the cycle of broken vows and misguided lusts,
Trapped by the explicated gestures made in the dark and,
And the story they told to the scholars of their time,
Forever to be remembered in the tales they wove.


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