Short Poem: A Mighty King

Within an hallowed sepulcher there rests
a mighty king whose withered frame suggests
yet still his ancient majesty. His head
with tarnished gold is crowned, and though he’s dead,
he still holds court, seated upon a throne.
Yea, there he sits, though all that’s left is bone.
In cobwebs clothed, the dead king waits, entombed
within his shadowed hall, and so he’s doomed
to fall to dust, to never rise again.
And in his darkened grave he longs for when
the hour of his death will pass that he
may rise and once again his kingdom see.