Sing praises of a misguided dream,
Spoken by His Majesty.
Spellbound to the fluid music,
A melody of perfection.
Notes glorifying all His ideas
While covering up the lies.
And all the harmonies flatten out
As His angel's choir dies.
The notes clash together and echo the actions
Of those He still thinks pure.
His perfect world, He created
Ensnares his final chord.
Author notes
I like this.
A contest entry
- Dark Word Prompt by T1ger.
900 points, ended May 3, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Wow, captivating
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