The Old Kingdom

Soft blankets upon the caressing
silk, with empty plates nearby
warm cups of milk. There was honey
on the table, blank napkins straying
towards silver. Neglected crayons
rested from faraway, a castle in
the sand.
Golden befalls the curtains, with
a fragile music box playing. Two
silhouettes hide together, in a fort
to which they gave their meager
lives for. Laughing and giggling at
the nonsense of it all, their hearts
light, their smiles never
fading.
They both look on outside, the glass
coated with tears.
Someone tips the cups over, and the
floors are stained.
Hurriedly, they stand, and begin to
cry, whilst cleaning the mess on the
floor, the panic clear in their eyes.
They scratch the carpets and wood,
their toys staring down at the two while
blaming the other,
No you, no you.
At last, the adults come home with
weariness in their eyes.
They stare at the fort and the
cups, their backs against the twilight
light. Silence etches through the room,
and slowly,
the children
stand.
They
take
a deep
breath,
then
ask
for
more
food.

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