EROSION

Upon a chair of withered bone, 

He waits, beneath a shattered sky. 

The tides, they sing a broken moan, 

While stars forget to even cry. 

Time gnawed away his breath, his skin, 

Left only silence, thin and cold, 

Still he sits, through storm and din, 

A monument to dreams grown old. 

The ocean laps at empty feet,

The chair, a throne of memory, 

Each wave, a sigh of old defeat, 

Each gust, a whispered elegy. 

O lonely king of restless seas,

What oath did you refuse to break? 

What kept you bound to ghostly pleas, 

Till flesh was gone, and soul awake?