The King’s Return
Mar 20, 2021
The night was quiet as the kingdom slept,
Across the wall, a lonely shadow crept.
Bloody fists scraped across the marble and stone,
A superhuman figure made of flesh and bone.
His shroud of darkness, worn and crimson stained.
Lives had been saved, a crisis contained.
The ghosts of his past haunt him still,
Memories of love he couldn’t bring himself to kill.
He wears a mask for a crown,
And wages war against a clown.
An unending war; for the battle is done,
Only until the next lunatic with a gun.
Powering through the pain he staggered on,
Collapsing on the stairs at the break of dawn.
The lights turned on and he wished he had been subtler,
As the door was opened by his frowning butler.
