Mythos

The Satrap's strength was almost spent
as he stumbled through the sand
but he made it to his fancy tent
to face his final stand
with one insidious intent

he had to see Verona pay
for everything she'd done
the guards her clansmen chose to slay
and lies that they had spun
to make his subjects turn away.

He scrabbled through a giant chest
of arms he'd had to sieze
most of which were junk at best
but sharp enough to please
the anger burning in his breast

by slicing through Verona's throat
and lopping off her head
a trophy over which he'd gloat
to show his foe was dead
a chilling message all would note.

Outside the tent Verona caught
her love, "I go alone,
for all the pain this swine has brought
he surely will atone."
The Dark One bowed, his jaw line taut

he knew that he was honor bound
and couldn't intervene
the contract he had made was sound
but if his nomad queen
was hurt, the Satrap would be downed.

Verona crept into the dim
enclosure, steel in hand,
within her she felt hatred brim
compelling her to land
the killing blow, despite how grim;

from nowhere came a slashing blade
which barely missed its mark
Verona ducked, then rolled and made
a stab into the dark
where fiendish unhinged laughter brayed

that fairly dripped with fright
for justice quickly neared,
she pounced with unabashed delight,
"Rot in hell!" she sneered
then thrust with every bit of might.

She staggered from the tent and fell
into the Dark One's arms
he felt his adoration swell
enraptured by her charms
(at least that's what the poets tell)--

the land from which this legend came
is sadly now anonymous
except their son of some acclaim
whom they called Ozymandias
perhaps you've heard the name?


***Well this is it, part VIII and the conclusion to my Desert Saga, here is a link to part VII which has links back, plus I will add permanent links to the right. Enjoy!!***