There he sits, upon the throne
Or perhaps the throne sits on him
With grizzled skin and grizzled bone
Attending to the silent hymn
Searching out the rusted seraphim
Stretching out the three-branched limb
Ruling, if he rules, according to his whim,
A land once green now turned to stone.

1 thought on “Throne

  1. “Throne” is deep and sinking deeper. It so reminds me of one by Séamus Heaney, except his is is a mountain of flesh instead of stone!

    He sits, strong and blunt as a Celtic cross,
    Clearly used to silence and an armchair:
    Tonight the wife and children will be quiet
    At slammed door and smoker’s cough in the hall.


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