The Mountain

A lonely king on chessboard of life.
What’s a trice in a mountains eternalness?
With his stone ermine cold and a crown bare,
No living shields and no breathing banners.
A static yearningly glimpse to the grace,
A ravenous urge to unite the horizons.
Words spoken through the rain in silence,
Secret blooming between petrified lungs.
If tears could bring the living breath,
Saw loneliness to reap the hope.
A definite aim to aporia in majesty,
A rivulets dawn on its riptides brutality.
King is dead, long live the king.
A course of stones eternalness,
Like a knive to the throat of the aeon.
Her breath was motion of bloom and wither,
Sessions drawned on her inert body.
A silent call to a revelry eternal,
Criterion of time set to the mountains feet.
What is a trice in a mountains eternalness?