Born to a realm with power in his veins,
A king with dreams as vast as starlit plains.
He sought knowledge in lands far and wide,
Yearning to conquer nations with unwavering pride.
But his domain was weak, his armies untrained,
Yet he craved greatness, his name to be enshrined.
Gathering troops, he sharpened their skill,
For he longed to hold the world at his will.

With a mighty army at his command,
He embarked on his conquest, ambitions so grand.
Conquering millions, his empire grew,
Wealth flowed like rivers, his riches true.
Children from many wives, a life of pleasure,
His ego inflated, believing he was a treasure.
His people worshipped him, a god in their eyes,
But little they knew of his impending demise.

Illness struck, gnawing away his strength,
Empire crumbling, his legacy at length.
Time's cruel hands sealed his fearful fate,
As desolation loomed, he suffered, too late.
Concepts of afterlife foreign to his mind,
No chance to find solace, as years swiftly declined.

Death arrived, a knock on his final door,
No solace, no weeping would ease the dread he bore.
"All you accomplished was indeed great," Death spoke,
"But now rest eternal, your fate is bespoke."

No matter how lofty a man's laurels may be,
Death claims all achievements eventually.
Remember, our time in this world is finite,
Prepare for the end, embrace the light.

© Mikhail