domingo, 15 de abril de 2012

King of his own land

Each day he greeted his people from night till morrow,
With each day turned night his joy would turn sorrow.

Vile nights those he spent alone,
The scent of her skin was gone.

At night his kingdom turned to darkness,
At night his power turned to loneliness,
Laying on a cold steel bed by himself.

Ever since a child he was burdened
With power that left him abandoned,
With territory so empty in his imagination.

All would be forgotten,
Everything he owned rotten.

All but ghosts left to tell
The tales of what the kingdom was.

And the fool, he who is me,
Jests while living vicariously,
Watching the kingdom burn in silence.

Time greets death with a grin
And with the wind the embers spin,
Turning all my words to ashes.

All conquered can be lost,
Even a kingdom can become a ghost.

Everything you see can also disappear
Even a kingdom can easily sear.