The King’s Defiance

Upon his throne of gold, the king did stand,
With eyes that gleamed like stars in midnight’s hand.
He raised his voice, a thunderous command,
“Come, Death, and face me, if you dare withstand!”

“I am immortal, crowned by fate’s decree,
No claim you have, no power over me.
My name shall echo through eternity,
While you, O Death, shall cower and shall flee.”

The winds did howl, the heavens darkly wept,
Yet still the king his haughty stance he kept.
“Fear me, O Death, for I have secrets kept,
Of life eternal, where no shadows crept.”

“Your scythe is dull, your cloak a tattered shroud,
While I, in splendor, rule the masses proud.
Your whispers fade, like mist before the crowd,
For I am king, and you are but a cloud.”

The fields of battle, bloodied and forlorn,
Had seen his might, his victories adorned.
He laughed at Death, with scorn and pride reborn,
“Your touch is weak, your presence I have scorned.”

“Where are your legions, where your fearsome might?
I stand alone, yet you dare not alight.
Your shadows flee before my kingdom’s light,
For I am sovereign, master of the night.”

The seasons passed, the years like rivers flowed,
The king’s domain with wealth and power glowed.
Yet whispers grew, a shadowed fear bestowed,
That Death, though silent, in the darkness sowed.

In twilight’s grasp, the king, now old and frail,
Did see his kingdom’s glory start to pale.
His heart, once bold, now trembled at the tale,
Of Death’s approach, a specter cold and pale.

“Where is your strength?” the king in whispers cried,
“Where is the power that once quelled the tide?”
His pride, his hubris, now a hollow guide,
As Death approached, with arms outstretched and wide.

“Mock me no more,” the king in anguish pled,
“Your power’s true, my arrogance misled.”
His crown, once bright, now heavy on his head,
As Death drew near, with steps both sure and dread.

The king, in tears, did see his folly’s cost,
His pride, his arrogance, now all but lost.
In Death’s embrace, his final breath he tossed,
A lesson learned, in shadows tempest-tossed.

“Forgive my pride,” the king’s last whisper sighed,
“For in my heart, I knew not how to bide.
Your claim is just, your power undenied,
And in your arms, my spirit shall reside.”

The throne now empty, echoes of his reign,
A tale of hubris, loss, and mortal pain.
The king who dared to mock Death’s dark domain,
Now rests in silence, free from earthly chain.