The Son of Kings

I stand amidst these broken stones,
This keep that is my shame.
In this place, where my kin once ruled,
Am I, last of my name.

My mad forebear, who built this keep,
Sought rule over the waves-
Upon the shore his builders toiled,
The surf taxing his slaves.

He never saw the folly in
The sand left ’neath the stone,
And ignored every warning sign,
Each shrieking shift of stone.

When at last the rough-hewn walls did yield,
When the sea itself rebelled,
It took the kingdom down with it-
Both crown and throne were felled.

And ’neath these angry azure waves,
Under the fallen stone,
The bones of my mad forebear lie,
Entombed upon his throne.

While he holds court now in the depths,
The land’s rule falls to me-
King of Nothing, in a ruined keep
That sits beside the sea.

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This is the second of three poems that all tell part of the same story- the tale of King Harlon the Mad and his castle, Thronehold-by-the-Sea.

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