Crownless King
His day will come
He sat in a dark room upon his throne,
with bones hung from chains,
more rust than metal.
His gaunt form
hidden beneath armour
in midnight clad.
Words streamed from this prophet’s mouth
a constant forthcoming
of prophecies and tactics.
Lips part as the husk speaks:
“He sits
upon a throne of gold
and death feeds his ego.
“I am his hubris
I am fueled
by the inspiration of the dire.
“I shall bring a balance when there is divide.
“I shall be crowned then,
no less than a God
but more than a king.
“King of all I shall be known
and when I am crowned
all will be one world
one image.
“My image.”
Author’s Note One
Albeit weeks late, this is my response to Labyrinthia Mythweaver’s 3/29/26 Salon of the Mythweaver prompt.
Special thanks to HVR for bringing this one to me!
I originally wrote this poem in October of 2025 as a “what if…” for the Warhammer 40k universe where I play on the idea of there being an antithesis for the God Emperor of Mankind.
I hope You enjoyed this piece!
Author’s Note Two
After writing and scheduling this, much has changed. I wrote this note to share how I am able to look back on what I did. The same life, but two different windows.
This was haunting.
And worth it!
Having peace with self is also a crownless king. There's no noise anymore, just self and peace. Thank you for sharing this.