Chained to the earth is a castle of stone
Walls draped in greenery and spire dipped in snow.
Halls locked in twilights cold embrace
Death herds the quarry deep within,
Down a road paved with game long gone
Lies the burial chamber of a King.
Chandeliers of roots pour from the ceiling to caress the floor,
Tapestries woven of spiders’ lace gilds the walls,
And ground sewn with a garden of golden jewels
Leads to the throne of roots and gold.
Unfolding itself from this wealth
Death and stars painting its skin.
Night stalks its quarry
Baring teeth of ice and moonlit eyes
Death finally takes its prize.