(Inspired by my own poetry with the same title.)
…
Afterglow Savannah got its triumph. The king, His Majesty Farena, really did his job perfectly. All the citizens were happy, praising and glorifying their king for the victory of the war.
They … were all happy, but not with a certain someone.
.
.
Standing there, a tall build.
Man with savanna sand hair,
Emerald-like eyes, seeing full guilt,
Twig body, not in good care.
.
.
In the middle of the venerators out there, he stood alone in a deserted place, and he still wore his uniform that became an honor for him and his family. For a glance, you would know that he was a tall and well-build knight of the royal. With blonde hair and emerald-like eyes of his, he must used to be a handsome man and had stolen so many women's hearts.
Yet, he lost it all. Now, he was nothing more than a standing dry twig. Also, all that remained was only deep guilt you could see in the look of those eyes.
.
.
Carried by the wind, his wishes,
Recalling all the promises
He made with the prince,
Buried under a stone ever since.
.
.
Right after another pity heard, all the memories he ever had playing like a film. He recalled all of his wishes; for the victory of his homeland, and for the safety of the prince whom he protected. He remembered when he said he would sacrifice his life for the prince, but the prince refused that. The prince wanted them to be safe during the war so that later they could leave the palace. Together they would live happily until their last breath.
And he promised that. He promised the prince that last wish of his.
But in the end, he couldn't make it happen, and let those wishes and promises buried under the same stone as the prince.
.
.
Hot, in the middle of desert,
Yet the stone cold as in sleet.
.
.
Slowly he bowed, before kneeling in front of the stone. He watched the name engraved on the stone for a moment. Then, with his frail hand, he stroked that name.
"Cold …," he whispered. "The stone's cold, yet it is summer here, Votre Altesse."
.
.
From those emeralds, river flow,
Wet the snow-like cheek.
Lips let a sorrow
Song sing without break.
.
.
"We … will be together," Those pale lips trembled, "will always be together …." His voice is also trembled, along with singing that is heard.
"I will … protect you," His breathing was getting heavier, "and you will … protect me, too."
"We will," The defense he made finally broken, let the saltwater from his eyes run down his cheeks, "protect each other …."
.
.
Misery in eternal.
No stop, he shall.
.
.
"Happiness … will greet … us …."
The more his sobs and singing were heard, the more pity he received.
"Happiness … happiness … will be ours …."
.
.
The stone stay still.
His breath runs out, until.