Tomb of the ancient king

I devote myself to Her because I fell her touch, could caress in my human and mortal body, because I long to feel that eternal fire inside of me, consuming the core of my bones, a hand reached out to help me find the path to Avalon. The mists circle all around me and there's no much I can do but to stand and wait for a light to appear and the face of the Ancient to receive me in their lair. Then I become a ghost to the human eye, a legend made of man and soul, a sinner that corrupted the minds of the children. But no one see's the wise man in me.
The new age as come and an old man like me gives up his place in his throne so the young can rule their realm. And I stand in silence, watching the waves break in the form of little news from the lost lands, sacred hands. No one see's the cry, no one bothers. The sound of music and life coming from the saloon was once for me. Oh they cheered and they cried. They screamed my name and drank to my purity and immortality. We were fools, those days. But the sweet fragrance of the wine still remains. That is what brings my soul back to this castle, while my bed rests in that old chair, looking at the horizon.
The battles were fought and legions fell, man that are unknown to each other, brothers of blood and race, murders of their own flesh for the glory of diplomats that stand behind doors and tables, sited in their chairs, bastards of mind and sinners of soul. The wars aren't won, humans are the loss and the rain is tainted on the wine of the liders that won't ever remove their swords to fight. Cowards, child's of nothing but monsters that wear masks of humans to live among us. Never shall I kill again for I've reached the objective of a lifetime, to live my final days in the peace and tranquillity of Avalon and drink the wine of death as I walk with my own feet and energy towards my grave.