Eulogy of a Sovereign
By: Agrias Posted on: July 26, 2009
Just a lonely little sovereign,
Lying placed upon the ground
Waiting there in silence,
Just begging to be found.
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Forged in the vaults of Prospero,
From a shining, molten ore,
It became the stuff of legends,
Of both past and future yore.
And as He spent it away, as He wishes to,
On some bauble or trinket fair,
It came into possession of
A girl with long, dark hair.
She sold herself to duty,
Her brother deathly ill,
And so she sold her labours,
In the hopes to purchase pills.
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The Apothecary's lamps hung low, and a yellow light was cast,
Upon the wooden floorboards, whose length ran ten hands past.
O' troublesome though, were his woes, and none could know the truth,
Of the debt he built from gambling, and the loaners, how uncouth.
He'd make his payment, just like before, and hope it was enough
For happiness, and freedom of, is what he'd rather trust.
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A shifty man with shifting eyes, waiting at the bar,
Wondering where his payment was, from here away how far?
He had clients waiting, had them lined up now for weeks,
Those that desired the serpent's blood to flow between their cheeks.
It was a simple matter though, just weave a tale of woe,
And those who heard, he bade them so, and to the Desert did they go.
His money would be then spent, on food to feed his wife,
Who had people out to kill her, and lived her days in strife.
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The baker and the baker's wife were busy through the day.
With breads to knead, and rolls to turn, they sold for all to say.
But the baker needed money, not to pay his rent or dues,
The reason that he needed it, had nary but a clue.
It was the monster Gleam, you see, the poison of the ill,
Euphoric and enticing, and wholly had his will.
The baker's wife was looking, for a cure to addiction's hold,
But she could never find a one, so the dough she pulled and pulled.
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The serpent looked behind him, as he went about his way,
To make sure none had followed, on this lucky, lucky day.
The gleam he had was pure and sweet, he had only to sell,
And by the baking of the bread, he knew the client well.
With this payment did he belive, he could finally buy that house,
And as the coins exchanged in hands, he looked at the baker's spouse.
Her eyes brimmed wide with heavy tears, but she couldn't look away,
For this monster had consumed the man, she gave vows to that day.
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Further on, down that lone dirt road, that ran north of forest bounds
A slipperly looking fellow was in wait upon the ground.
The finest weaves of arcane touch, he wrought about his form,
As he reached into the pocket of a serpent grinning borne.
Notice not the coins removed, did the serpent see at all,
But the slippery-looking fellow did, though the amount he got was small.
Now finally, lest all these years, he could buy that shiny horse
And he succumbed to visions, with a stallion on its course.
But the trumpet blast of dragon's breath, from behind him came so sharp,
And it sundered out the body of the thief, now torn apart.
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He'd heard the whipsers on the wind, of a thief, not to be seen -
And so he went to justify this death of crimson sheen.
It was his duty of the guard, to protect the citizens,
To maintain all the happy times, and hear the merry din.
So he summoned up his fullest strength, and let loose a massive roar
And when the flames subsided, the thief lay on the floor.
But a bounty hunter's supplies run low, quite often in this world,
So he sent to find some vials, herbs, and pipesmoke hung and curled.
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He was away on business, his leave to be quite long,
And so she sat and waited on, the man she'd sing her song.
On the fountain of Fluvialis, the massive, ornate work,
Her senses left to happenstance, her duities all to shirk.
The baldric slung down at his side, a golden mare in tow,
With a rubicund complexion he, wherever he did go.
And he kissed and held the woman, and she melted in his arm,
The two of them encircled, felt immortal, without harm.
And in the quiet of the space, affections came unhinged,
As a mighty dragon, walking through, saw the sight and cringed.
In a tragic showcase of betrayal, he slew the man and girl,
And stopped his heart, the deed now done, the three lay dead and still.
And the single golden sovereign fell, and resigned inside this place,
To be left here all but forgotten now, this dreadful, dreary space.
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Each sovereign has a history, of blood, and lust, and tears,
That will emphasize its tragic tale that spins all through the years.
It is a cycle of completion, once begun cannot be stopped,
For all has different means for gold, and it absorbs them, hot.
Respect your wealth, you listeners, for easy it comes not,
And show pity for the sovereign, that gets you all you got.
The myriad stories each one has, none will know but Him,
As the Merchant Lord of Wealth and Fame extends His broadened grin.