A Boy, A King

He stood there, lost, holding only a shield,

surrounded by haystacks in a patchy field.

Whilst he battles against nothing but the breeze,

his imaginary enemies fall to their knees.

He picks up a stick, a mighty sword,

the golden steel will slay a cruel lord.

He takes his stance and the blade starts to swing,

being guided by the one true king.

But the hero is outnumbered, hope begins to fail

just as predicted in the old wives' tale:

'Surrender will save many men's lives,

withdrawal is needed for all to survive.'

Maybe he should've listened, let his dreams disappear,

but instead he fashioned a stick into a spear.

His foes will fall, every last one,

only then will he feel that he has won.

So he slashed and fought for all in his heart,

he would fight until the world fell apart.

When nearly all the foes were slain,

there was one man left who would stop his reign.

The mighty lord, brutal and cruel,

but there on his head lay the crown jewel.

Our hero battled against the beast,

only one would survive and the other decease.

It continued for a while, they were evenly matched,

until the beast's head became detached.

"Victory, victory, the battle is won,

there is a new king for everyone!"

And there he ruled until the end of his days,

often wandering through the maize.

But the king, sadly, was just a boy,

he dropped his stick which was only a toy.

His mother called him home for tea,

whilst the boy dreamt of his victory.

Whilst sleeping he won battles and glory,

which, in his land, were made into great stories.