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Forsaking The West

The fairy king sits on his rock-hewn throne
adorned with silver, gold and jeweled stone.
His heart is bleak; in court the minstrels moan.
He broods in silence and he weeps alone.
His blossom wings he spreads to tower high,
its feathers showered by the silver sky.
All love is gone, a gloomful dawn draws nigh
as lies his queen upon her funeral pyre.
The day is darkened, earth in earnest quakes.
The requiem rite the fairy lords partake
concludes. At last the king will cross the lake:
The fay, must now the western world forsake.

His sons reject not day and deeds of strife
and still they claim the stone that took her life.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
This poem was written in a short burst of inspiration. It was an experiment in writing in iambic pentameter. Please do not consider the story/content much. The main thing that needs working here is the poetry. Mechanics, rhyme, meter... I tried to make it as alliterative as possible. Have a go and tell me what you think
Editing stage: 


Except I am not sure about pyre as one of the rhyming words

It was a compromise. Not my finest line. It's a half rhyme that is more appropriate in a longer work, not in a short one like this.

No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job. - TS Eliot

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