Tyrants

Four Kings from the four corners of the world prepare for war at the center, or end, of the earth.

Four corners to the earth and four kings to rule,

one war to end it all by the hands of the cruel.

The armies march forth to meet at the end of the world,

each with their pride to hide their fall. 

The North, the North, the Nordic lords of snow,

fill the taverns to spread their lore. 

The East, the East, they fight with beasts,

their fallen foe on them they feast.

The South, the South, from desert sands,

scare off men with their sharpened mouths.

And the West, the West, from mountain lands,

they chant their songs and beat their chests. 

One day they will meet and fight till death.

The end is near, the Earth lacks its breath.

Shields collide and swords slice away,

soldiers fall and the spirits sway.

The moon rises and falls, the sun alike,

the heads of four kings, raised on spikes.

Author's Note

Feedback would be great, if you would be so kind as to do so. Commas are breaks, rhyme pattern is pretty simple. Enjoy!