How a Word Overthrew the King (the rise and fall of power)
A word
quenches fires,
A fall from dark,
A symbol, broken.
A throw from power.
Looking out through the glass,
From high-held seats and lofty spires.
Of kings,
broken things
will turn the tide.
Not just of bodies
who lose their crowns,
To throw, to fall, to cast aside—
This word was born from that cast away.
Down
and out of grace,
A final word through time.
From lofty heights, a sudden fall,
A desperate act, a tragic call, a word.
A forceful end, shattered, a mark, a word’s divide,
A final plunge, till now from ancient times, a violent act.
The art
grown cold
and fortune lost
it’s grip to power’s fall.
Looking out through panes of glass
A venerable history, they say, of politics.
To lose one’s place, dismissed from power—torn
The fall.
Stay on guard
Shadows are cast.
Where tales of power fail.
There lies a fate, both grim and grand,
With echoes of history, that go unheard.
From lofty heights to cold ground’s embrace.
Remember
farther they fall
from castle keeps,
from rooms, or courts,
A fate captured in this verse.
Reminding us, oh, what a word.
A word for scholars and for bards.
WoPoLi 
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