Metal Bones
Oh king atop your throne,
Why do your silent thoughts,
Drown out your own wails and moans,
You seek respite after the wars you’re fought,
By sitting atop your gold plated loft,
Trapped within your iron scales and jewel encrusted bones,
Your scars barely tenuously clasp your skin together in a thousand slipknots,
Your crown bears an omen like the eulogy on a tombstone,
Beware the man whose life is fraught,
With the fear of losing all that he’s sought,
For that man is your king atop his throne,
Of skin crafted rugs and metal bones.
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