Richard, The Last by Rich Herrick

Richard, The Last

Mine is a kingdom of desolation.
Its lands are barren and dead.
No fish team within its lakes.
Only clouds hang overhead.
Great forests are things of the past.
Deserts have taken their place.
There are no birds in the sky.
No stags to romp and race.

My castle's a ruin of grey stone.
Only shadows fill its halls.
No warmth is gained from its hearths.
No art lines its walls.
My foot steps echo off cold stone.
They leave a trail in the dust.
The old doors moan in complaint.
Their hinges caked with rust.

I have grown old and tired.
My crown is tarnished and dim.
My scepter has lost its shine.
My throne's cold and grim.
I spend my time alone in sorrow.
Days and nights just pass me by.
No laughter rings in this tomb.
And I can only cry.

My heart's as broken as my sword.
For my treasure vault is bare.
I knew not what it was worth.
'Till I spent it without care.
Mine is a tale of utter despair.
I live my life in the past.
There is no joy in my reign.
For I am Richard, The Last.