Scheherazade

A Sultan knew caprice at woman's hand,
through infidelity, his love betrayed,
then cast his rage on women through the land,
and at his hand all purity denied.
For ev'ry night he'd take a virgin bride
to have her executed on the day,
to merely compensate his wounded pride.
But love lives on, so long does poetry.
For from his heart all hint of love was banned,
as further treachery he'd not abide.
Thus pleasure granted at his want's command
that each new maiden would for him provide...
then slaughtered - as his innocence had died.
The tainted hues of love, but shades of grey
for in his heart - all poetry denied.
But love lives on, so long does poetry.
Such grievious insult spit upon the sand,
and weeping love lay prone while poems cried.
Impossible to touch the cold demand...
'til 'fore the Sultan stood Scheherazade
who would not have her poetry denied.
She told her tales unfinished on the day
and curiosity he could not hide.
But love lives on, so long does poetry
Enchanted for a thousand and one nights
by sweet song of Scheherazade... and she
rekindled something very deep inside
for love lives on, so long does poetry.