The Curse - Poetry
The ring was but cursed,
From the ages of the kings.
From the tears of the queens,
It was a molted in suffering.
A books of spells,
To go along,
They were perfect together.
A nomad of the future,
Roaming with the ring on his finger.
A flight to the mountain,
Atop the red dragon,
It was finally time that he was home.
Pushing the huge iron doors opem,
Surprised at the silence,
He set walking around the palace.
Out through the window,
Was a river of hope,
Bouncing light off it,
As but a warning.
Lonely,
He looked out the window,
A palace that held no meaning.