Hands scarred and hardened with use
Strike wood and metal to create steel magic
Coaxing demon cries from the choking neck
Bending wails echo off marble ceilings
Screaming upward ever higher
To pierce the veil and reign in new day
Heralded by thunder.

A thousand kings march to slow death
Passing into shadow without care or thought
Swept into the wash of time
Already forgotten
Their stories are told whispered on the night wind
Sad melodies and empty silence
And endings that never change.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels