Rise and Fall of the King Sonnet 1

Before us all was the rise of the King, from underneath the filth of the peasant, cleaning dirt from bloody cuts that all sting, wiping away marks seen as unpleasant. Stood so taller amongst us little men, feeling the grandeur embedded in his eyes, spoils of life hidden in the dark den, places that would never see pure lies. Physique became bloated with his own myth, believing all the words of immortality, whispers, our King drank from the troth forthwidth, depleted with self imposed debauchery. The King, sore with boils at his own death, uttering defiance with his last breath. August 31, 2011 © Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011