The Barren Throne

As the bistering ray of hope
Hits aged roots buried in stone
The moss which grows
On decaying ground
But wild grass can thrive
In its skull
Although colored by rotten subsistence
Once white as unspoiled flesh
Slowly dissolves
Now daplled black as foreseen is
When the hunter gathers his price
Of golden mammoth teeth
And pride shall shift to lust
May it drive them forth
His barren throne left for none
Reclaimed in time by moss
Stone which carve through the flesh
An empty grave of kings
Into
The dormand
Giant’s mouth
He crawls
But fall claims his cherished prize
And soon eyes betray, blight the Woods
Carrier
Of dignified surrender
Ravaged tomb
Holds no remains
From
The awakened
Giant’s mouth
He crawls