All the kings have stolen crowns
Are born with the taste of blood in their mouths
Listen to father's who lean over their cradles singing
Legacy legacy legacy
You stand knee deep in the forest rivers and say
'There no who gods here anymore'
Your voice loud
Your mouth full of the taste of salt and iron
But the gnarled oak watches you
The gnarled oak hears
His sword is yours now
And his armor too
Your own battle wounded fathers breath is slowing in his chest
He tales your hand in his:
'My son,your empire will be the mightiest'
But and old oak tree grows outside your bedroom windows
Just out of sight
The old gods laugh.
[Not my poem]
- beneath the gnarled oak
- JoinedAugust 29, 2016