Cycled King

What ails you there upon the throne,

upon the seat of power?

For long you strived, yet still you groan,

your head bows in this hour?

What is this look upon your face,

this sad and dreary smile?

You've climbed right to the top, your grace;

you've conquered every trial.


Or is it now you feel the weight

of all you had to do,

and all who climb, is it their fate

to see another you?

You killed the king to be the king, 

so you are next to die.

An ouroboros is a ring;

all wearing it will sigh.