The Fantasy

The Fantasy

By stbrians | Churning Poetry | 24 Dec 2022


Drip, drip, drip

Something dropped from nowhere

Its sound fell with the heartbeat

I felt weak


clutched firmly to the skeptre

Involuntarily

My hand flew to my forehead

touched something wet

It smelt blood

The smell was overbearingly strong.



began drifting to sleep

The action uncontrollable and with urgency

could not tell time and position

"Where was I?"

"What happened?"

I was going fast

My energy concentrated on the skeptre



Soon I was oblivious of anything

I felt the skeptre drop to the ground

"What was I doing?"

In the distance the war cry sounded

Is life worthy fighting for

Here I am

The king to be

Lying in a pool of blood

The skeptre of power on the ground.

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stbrians
stbrians Verified Member

Am in the world yet am not of this world. https://www.publish0x.com?a=jnegp0Eraw


Churning Poetry
Churning Poetry

Poetry is the spice of the soul. A poet is an emotional person. He creates love, hate, worry etc. A poet is a mind reader. He knows your thoughts.

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