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The Empire of the Fallen

Near the wood, as in a tale,
Settled by people of similar kind,
Living in verse, like a gentle gale,
Leaving the noise of the world behind.

There lived one family, close and dear,
A father, a mother, and a daughter bright,
Bound by love that knew no fear,
A connection strong, a bond of light.

The father worked the farmland wide,
Growing crops and herbs with care,
King of his little empire with pride,
Feeding those who gathered there.

The mother tended cattle and child,
Keeping the home warm like heaven,
Her charm and love, gentle and mild,
Made every hard day feel lighter to bear.

The daughter wandered close to nature,
Finding beauty in every small thing,
Singing along with the wind's soft call,
Joyful in whatever the seasons bring.
As she was the princess of her father's empire.

What an exciting life it was being lived.

But there came a day,
When the sky turned dark with cloud,
Thunder rolled in cruel display,
And something cold moved through the crowd.

The fortunate life they knew so well,
Was struck by a horror like a nightmare,
Neighbours, chiefs, and strangers fell
Into hatred, with poisoned stare.

Each one rose to make their claim,
Pointing fingers, playing lawyer,
They called the queen a witch by name,
Turning peace to ash and horror.

Her body crawled and begged for mercy,
No one cared to hear her cry,
The mob moved forward, hungry and cursed,
As superstition lit the sky.

The princess hid alone in the corner,
Trembling at the terror's sound,
Watching demons shaped like people,
Burn every inch of sacred ground.

The princess too was caught in flame,
Crying out in sorrow and pain,
As if the earth forgot its shame,
And let the cruelest ones remain.

There were many who stood and watched,
Without heart, without compassion,
They let it burn, they let it rot,
And walked away in dark satisfaction.

Then the king came home at last,
Mud on his hands, sweat on his face,
Tired and hungry from a long day past,
Longing for his beloved place.

But it was all wrong.
The story that truly matters,
Full of darkness, full of worse,
Is the one that leaves you in tatters.

He saw his kingdom, cold and dead,
Built by his hands with love and care,
His queen and princess, ash instead,
And nothing left but hollow air.

No sense could hold what the eyes had seen,
No heart could bear the weight of this act,
The world had fallen somewhere between
A nightmare and a wound that can't heal.

He was the only one left alive,
He had to bury his beloved ones,
How could a broken heart survive
The victory of the cruel and the cold.

Thus, his story has ended,
In the vanity of ruth,
The ocean of tears,
The depth of sorrow,
As death has no mercy,
And neither does god.
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