She stands desolate,
Her towers crumbling to the harsh winds,
Flags no longer fly proud
of kings that descend from Arthur's knights.
Her foundations still stand
And yet, she is covered in moss,
Destruction at her door,
Left by him for another man's land.
Time surrounded her with a moat
And a guardian that sleeps
To serve and protect
Until Eros comes and wakes.
Autumn leaves pile up
Coloring her gray walls with red,
Waiting for a more worthy monarch
To conquer her ramparts worthy of Troy.
The Lost Book
7 years ago