Overhead she waits
soaring on her silent wings
while below life fades
I was once the King of the mountain. My voice echoed down the glens and valleys. My brides eagerly awaited my caresses. Now I am alone, a usurper has taken my throne. My strength flows to the ground in a crimson stream. I am weak and all I wish to do is rest. Yet I cannot, I am old and tired. Betrayed by my own four, once sure, feet. The voice of a new champion rings out, incessant, challenging, mocking. It will soon be time.
A meal is waiting
this story can only end
in a lonely death
When the pen takes control. 