Basarab I of Wallachia, cropped.
Atop his throne sat the King Eric
An old man loved by time
His withered hands and creased face
Told tales of glory and wartime
O the brilliant king who conquered!
Across the terrains and the lands
He who once had an empire
Entirely under his commands
All hail King Eric!
Who won not one war—But two! But three!
Hail the Insightful King Eric!
Who brought in riches for his people to see
Yet now his throne room laid barren
From all that it used to hold
Gone were the days of tapestries
And of walls painted gold
Gone were the days of ravenous feasts
Of parties day and night
The ancient man modeled in silence
In a palace with no light
Grey eyes have succumbed to darkness
Coated by a mist
His eyes shadowed by beetling brows
Knows none of what’s amiss
The Advisor entered the dark room
‘Greetings, My King’ he said
His frigid smile would go unseen
Because old King Eric’s eyes were dead
The King asks about his kingdom, his subjects
‘Prosperous! Flourishing! Thriving!’
Rambling, the Advisor spits nice lies
(Yet unrest rages and children are starving.)
The Advisor is a trusted man!
(—the throne room is empty)
The Advisor is the King’s eyes and ears!
(—the King sits upon wood instead of gold)
(—the King does not know the room is empty)
When the door closes behind the Advisor
The King is left in darkness
No knowing no light no warmth
How could one man be so heartless?
‘Why is it so cold?’ the King calls
But there is no reply
Silence is all that answers him
What could that imply?
O what happened to Eric the Great
To his kingdom, to his rule?
How did he turn so blind to all
Why do they treat him like a fool?
All hail King Eric!
Who won not one war—But two! But three!
Hail the Insightful King Eric!
Who won every battle at sea
O the brilliant king who conquered!
Across the terrains and the lands
The empire he took so long to built
Is now crumbling in his hands.
Anja Huang is a sophomore majoring in Film at the School of Visual Arts.