Too late… Too late.
They had taken the bait.
“Away, away!“
“Keep them at bay!”

A plot for the king to be overthrown.
Patter and crash upon cobblestone.
Silken sheets of rain do not tarry.
The realization of a king to be wary.

“I kneel!”
“I yield!”
“I abdicate!”
He could not retaliate.

Treachery abounded, a travesty.
“You are now surrounded, your majesty!”
“Slash asunder, bundle of wheat…”
His aged bones crumble to their feet.

“The deed is done!” Crimson painted the king’s brow.
They have wrought a certain fate upon themselves now.
“As I knew, sweeter than milk of the bride.”
“It feeds the tendrils of where my tiny soul may hide…”

“Drink all, drink all!”
They would not stall.
“Damn you all, drink!”
Closer to the brink.

Then, ethereal beings with startling shrillness.
Cursed. Murdered. Everlasting stillness.
A turn up comeuppance, over them they pour.
Their ephemeral beings, be no more.

Gone are they all…
They tumble, they fall…
To their fitting descent…
Too late to repent.

© Sayer Teller