Fortress

Large, but not imposing
strong, but not impenatrable
The Fortress stands.

Blue skies
a yellow sun
green grass
gentle breezes
vibrant flags flying high.

A new king arrives
gently, softly
his reign will be the last.

The commoners, the folken
gather to feast
hopes are high
as the flags
the banners
that dance against the sapphire sky.

Years go by
the reign has been one of many heartbreaks.
Nothing could have been done,
natural happenings
acts of God
nothing could've been done.

The folken are hungry and sad
but they stand by their king
on his throne
in his fortress
above the crashing, angry sea.

As the winds of desperation begin to pass
the swift crystal air of change arrives
the king is unhappy.

Uncomfortable on the ungiving throne
ready for a change
sure that he has been too lax
too giving
too kind.

The guard is now changing
the newly fed folken
so positive
find themselves imprisoned
chained
forced to starve.

They look to their king
who served so well when things were hard
minds boggled
they wonder at his cruelty.

Children crying
pestilence hits the land
animals running the fields, gone to seed
yet the folken wait
and hope.

Sure of his rightness
his goodness
his correctness
the king plunges his people
into a living death.

Mouths closed by law
hearts torn by course
souls turned silent
they drudge
they work
they hope.

Even as the sapphires blaze above
and the emeralds crash to the shore
even as a ruby adorns the west
the folken die
until one day
the last one
stands
and leaves.

Emerging from the king's land
eyes raw from tears
hands raw from work
throat raw from thirst
she sees how easy it is
how easy it was
how easy it could have been.

Treading on free land
she falls to the sweet earth
the oats that will shade her in death.

Soft, sweet renewing rain
falling from the sky
kissing her dried cracked lips
and a soft voice says
you could've left anytime at all
it was always that easy.