A poem, because why not?
Haven't been on PbN in a looong time, and I was looking for some constructive criticism on some recent writing. If there's already a poetry thread or whatnot, feel free to redirect me. Hope yall enjoy though.
A red sky flies high ringing in the night,
Red grass painted from the perished of the fight.
The war is won, my banners are flying high,
But the message must be delivered before the first light.
With the bird in the air, the march back is the last to despair.
Walls rise in the horizon as home is now sighted.
Only thing on my mind is the smell of the trees, the taste of the mead, and my Queen at my side.
The gates open, the smallfolks cheer, and the horses rear.
Shoutings of "Long live the King!" bringing home ever near,
Drowning out memories of battle which brought any fear.
The leers and jeers erased by cheers and peers,
It's time to feast and put down the spears.
Cups are being poured as armor gets relieved.
Approaching the head seat, I'm greeted by the embrace of my Queen.
She's the reason I fight, my desire to reign
All the blood shed for her to ensure her hearts beating,
"Let us drink and eat to celebrate His victory!" she screams.
As the bird flies ever forward, soaring towards destiny.
Jesters are jesting, singers are singing,
Flagons are cheersing, lutes are ringing.
Course after course the cooks keep bringing,
Cup after cup we all keep downing.
Deep into the night reveling in the festivities.
Is this the fifth cup? The sixth cup? Or the nineteenth?
"The final course I will now serve!"
Yells the Queen from my right hand seat,
"And let this be a lesson to those with thoughts of usurp!"
Returning from the kitchen with a single silver platter,
With a cover engraved of our love story and laughter.
In front of me its placed with a smile across Her face.
Through the hall they all stare irate.
I lift up the cover, a bleeding heart awaits.
Confusion and delusion fill my brain,
Looking back up at my Queen, the Reaper has taken her place.
The subjects start shouting "All hail his Disgrace!"
Then the pain hits like a war drums bass.
I look down at my chest, blood dripping through empty space.
Falling forward like I've been struck by a mace.
The bird enters from an open balcony,
Accompanying the sun's morning beam.
Lands on my plate, blood and wine at its feet.
"The enemy is inside the gates."
The message is finally received.