the king
gives his rings
to the fallen heroes

i have a burn
on my calf
drunk on music
while the herbs
of the forest
drip

the king
raises
his hand
maidens
come in
their gowns
long and full
how beautiful
like flowers
i thought

sing james
the king says
i limp
my saddlebag
in my travels
opened and words
sung
for this one
night
now empty
dry
this long run
emptied
me

he stands
when the
entertainment
is good

when it
is sour
he grimaces

i do not know
what happens
to these
poor souls

i sing
my words
scratchy

my great poem
sounds
wimpish
confusing

the king
grimaces

i am led
out

send
these out
i yell
to the horsemen

while i
wait

Well said, my friend. Let me know if you desire any feedback.

way cool if you want to give feedback, even in a message, thank you for reading