Uncategorized, Writing

A family lay framed upon the walnut,

Dust collecting, isolated in neglect –

A room, ivory and gold, cleansed of dirt,

Empty of soul, the Emperor sits in wait.


Glass, crystal, clear visions of the towers,

A mirror of the powers climbing up

to take his throne – woollen armour,

chain mail of silk, his sword signs paper

white as milk, a list of crimson fit to spill

by the bullet of the phone.


A family lay hidden within a drawer,

Skin now framed upon the walnut;

Sweat dripped down with every thrust,

The Emperor, yet to conquer lust,

Looked across

a room so full of wealth,

And in that threatening mirror,

Saw an empty, frightened self.

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