a skull upon the dark ground.
You sit, stoic, upon your dark throne.
The curtains part, your attendants
flickering like candelight come.
Your pale face is expressionless.
From your lofty perch you frown
down at me. Why are you so bitter?
Your face darkens, your eyes turn
murky. You hide behind your dark
Are you in mourning?
Who is it you have lost?
Your son perhaps?
Your reason for being - you
lost many moons ago.
You are all that remains.
An old bitter white shell,
an old white stone.
Tears begin to fall down
your pale, powedered cheeks.
You cower behind your grey curtains.