The Man Called Napoleon


A sword is like a mantle, hanging up the glory, a man named Napoleon, and thus says his story.For tiny teeth that chewed, for a tiny man in stature; forced out emperor words, and called himself “The Master”. From dusk till dawn, empires are to rend, and bend unto the very will of the man called Napoleon. With hats tilted right, and with all of his might; and with shoes that fit best, his inevitable conquest. , Napoleon’s face, is but the very face of France; the emperor, king of all; hat’s, shoes, and pants. And let’s not forget the brain inside of his head, for it fastens up the smarts, and keeps him from going dead! An invincible man, and countries ran through; an undeniable iron fist, and inevitable too…

Then the time came, when Russia threw a frown, at the face of this man, as he fell and broke his crown. For an island bonified, as an island with hot chicks; with an incurable longing, for a man born with wit. From ladies to ladies, he called them his “babies”, and holstered two shoulders as each perched upon were ladies. The man named Napoleon, or should I say “Pimpinpoleon”, drew himself another crown, and crowned himself “ladies man”!

The day finally came, when enough was but enough, Russia blew a horrible wind, that had flown like a gust; and crazy coats were knitted, in the name of the asylums, and searched out with a vengeance, as they hooked upon Napoleon..! His ladies removed, his pride crushed, his echoes made crude, his glory turned to dust. For one man demoted, a great man once made for war, for one man locked away, his genius hidden, and closed behind a door…

Story’s Moral: How pride can orchestrate the fall of many great people. 

Copyrightcopyright March 22, 2014


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