Throne

Weathered from the trample of time,
A throne, deriving much affection and love
Scorned in one life, loved in another
T’would only ever know mockery but for the subtler chime;
The chime of love, the chime of peace, the sound of hope: a newborn dove

Constantly moaning and groaning; a shudder
A mangled heap, once mighty, now overthrown
Barely recognisable, to the stranger and the friend indistinguishable, to oneself and no-one other
Yet still, it is, for reasons far more illustrious than a king’s, a throne

For all the tears in life, the tears shed in death were immeasurably greater
In life a busyness that in death was denied,
In death a memory of life destroyed
Only a remnant, a traitor
A demon, a ghost, unrecognised

Ornately carved, cautiously sewn; a chair
Memories flooding at the seams, threatening to burst,
To intimidate, destroy, to give life and to give birth
What could conceivably prevail when all despair
Finally, finally, escapes, who would prevail and who would become cursed?