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Crazed Rantings of a Mad Poet

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The Valley

“I traversed the valley of kings, as was my right. A foray into destiny long since decided. I marveled at their accomplishments. The grandeur and finery of tombs, attempting to outlast or outclass the dead that came before. As I came upon the place that would be mine, it was as all I had feared, a solitary hole. Anointed in gold, silver, bedecked in linen soft and exquisitely rare. But a hole just the same. Here in my final days is where I would lay. Long forgotten by Empire, kin, and time.

I think often of that hole, while I stand at court. You can see the top of the valley just out one window only visible from the throne, just beyond the market square, and the city walls. Look here. See? A looming ghoul just out of sight, at all times awaiting my final transgression, perhaps falling to the burden of rule or sin, whichever should cause a sword to finally find its mark.

Even as my own sword of Damocles sits ready to fall, I sit undisturbed by its threat. I have one final quest to fulfill before the vice from robes of state become a death shroud. Even for all of my success, conquest, the eased burden of life on all those I can give it to, the adoration of my people, it all seems so small, so insignificant in the absence of her smile, or her laugh. If God does exist, it is in a woman’s smile, and the lightning strike it has upon a lovers heart. And I would grant her all the resplendence I could command, no want of hers would go unfulfilled, no desire unmet. And yet, her spirit does not bond to such things. Where I could offer her a feast in a great hall, she would as easily be at the Inn. Where I would offer a marvel of the world, she would be happy to sit in awe of a flower.

Where is this spirit I have met in the woods? That flashes a smile behind a great oak? Where in the vastness of a forest sits that solitary tree I saw her at only once? Even at sea, visions of her sit often on my mind. But I cannot find that distant point again by starlight. Nor will the mermaid appear who brought me there, her bright hair glowing in the moonlight. Were these moments simply madness? Flashes of a life I never lived? No. No, she bares my mark, and I have hers. Every moment was as real as you are standing before me. Do not pity me. I need not the condolences of a spectator, who would just as soon believe I’m mad.

But I think on that valley often, just out of sight. And that if I could, but for a moment know she would be there, make my resting place forever by her side. Whether it be the valley, the forest or the sea. That if we were together, I need not be a king, a lord, or whatever other conveyance of power you believe in, I would only need be hers, and she mine. In the brightness of her soul, anyone would truly be worthy of the valley of kings.”

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