The Last King

The Last King

Movement:
Like the drifting withered leaf,
Crumpled and dry as it sweeps
Down the tree’s limb in agony.

Scorched:
Like a ship sinking into the never-ending sea:
A tomb sunken twenty leagues deep.
Silent, not a whisper seen.
Her corpses: rotted flesh is her ecstasy.

Falling:
Like the leaf of the tree,
Without a sound, no one can see
The light escapes between the scene.
Only anguish for this last reigning king.

The Last King by K. Saitta
© 2007-2021 Walk In Verse All rights reserved

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