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The Sleeping King

An Arthurian fantasy sonnet

By Drew DunlopPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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The Sleeping King
Photo by Beth Macdonald on Unsplash

Sing, muse of war! Sing tutor of all strife!

That does no end of wickedness on Earth,

That steals from mortals temperance and life;

That robs the world of future hopeful birth.

Come, castigating angels of our deeds,

Sing now of readying our souls for war;

Sing bitterly and sweet, the soul that bleeds,

The king who is not as he was before.

With all our dreams of peace contented least,

Have we the time to spare, to introspect?

With bones and viscera a raven's feast,

Look back upon the world and chance, reflect.

What truths might we uncover, dared we look?

What solid facts give way 'gainst steely gaze?

Do ruins hold the secret, or some book,

That might keep solid flesh from parting ways?

Or are the future's cries a mounting skirl,

That wounds the world with desperation, pain,

Unless the mystery we can unfurl,

As warrish banners dance across the plain?

In deepest woods, on wastes, in barrows deep,

The scars of conflicts past their secrets hide,

The slightest questing touch wakes them from sleep,

To shatter thoughts on which we have relied.

The ravens raise a threnody, and sing;

"Find you the truth! The once and future king!"

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About the Creator

Drew Dunlop

Drew is a poet and author, writing slightly ominous fantasy-inspired poetry! He does that when the rest of life allows it, so read up, and more will be forthcoming.

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