Nothing real remains of
the faceless kings of old
no soul
no will
no emotion
just names on a manuscript.
Garnets glitter in the summer sun,
one all-seeing eye glaring
at the world above,
the other dulled,
sacrificed
for the sake of the world.
Did he wonder, as the end approached,
secure in his kingdom,
what world would await
when next he woke?
On the brink of war,
uncovering long buried rivalries.
Is this world so different
to his?
Under threat
from one greedy for land
for power
for control.
Fourteen hundred years from now,
will he too be just a name
from a distant time with
no soul
no will
no emotion,
as faceless as those kings of old.
Reduced to a word on a page,
his burial site unknown
to hide the shame
he never felt.
The old king was revered,
buried, surrounded
by the symbols of his power
living on in the memory of the soil
that kept his treasures safe
until at last it was revealed
and shared,
casting its glow on an age once shrouded,
reminding the world ‘this too shall pass’
and light
will return.
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