By: Anthony DiPalma
He wore a crown he stole from his brother,
And he sat on his throne of blood and bone.
He torched all their homes, hovels, and holdfasts,
And he put all our heroes to the sword.
The villain knew exactly what he was,
And he knew exactly why he was born.
Black cloaks and black blades and black prophecies,
A false king to serve the will of his god.
He was written to deliver terror,
And fear to test the strength of the hero.
A two-dimensional antagonist,
Born on the commuter rail to Boston.
He had men to kill and speeches to give,
He was hardly sympathetic at first.
Then, halfway through the creative process,
He died because the writer changed his mind.