This is a piece that I wrote a few years back when I first started to experiment with using poetry as a tool for narrative works. I enjoy writing this variety of poetry much more than I do the introspective variety. Some of the inspiration for this little piece came from my flirtations with Marxism at the time, and my interest in the French Revolution. The concept of dirty peasants overthrowing their well-to-do rulers is a very familiar and inexhaustible, both as a literary theme and regular happening.

Upon sunrise they closed his eyes,
Frail sobs within draped chambers,
From above the vermin in the dirty streets,
Ill gains appeared endangered,
War trumpets cried “The tyrant died!”
And pawns advanced with anger,
Famished footmen with nothing to lose,
But their chains and hope for a savior,
Upon nightfall castles burned and capital became cancer,
Revolt became revelry as drinks were served,
Rich men made to answer,