The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.
The Tyrant ran out to fight for his treacherous castle,
For no one would help him, not even a dark vassal.
The King held up his big hand, he would take the Tyrant alone,
For it was the King’s duty to end the hate that the Tyrant had sewn.
Their swords met together as if destined to hit,
It was clear that the Tyrant was not going to quit.
They exchanged blow after blow with horrific strength,
For defeating this evil, we must all go a great length.
Their power was matched, but coming from different places,
You could see the determination in both of their tired faces.
And finally the Tyrant tripped overestimating his reach,
And through the Tyrant’s armor the King’s sword would breach.
The Tyrant fell to ground and cried out in pain,
The King stepped back, curious if it was a feign.
And with that, great darkness surrounded the Tyrant,
And a plume of smoke grew out in the shape of a giant.
The smokey giant had tears coming down his face,
For the Tyrant’s evil came from a very painful place.
And with that, the giant let out a great moan,
And with that, there was no more Tyrant’s throne.
But in the ground, there layed a small boy,
With a little figure in his hand, it was a toy.
The boy slowly stood up looking only to the ground,
For this was a new prince that was soon to be crowned.
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