#2,342 Fifty-seven

With my peers we are
falling into darkening
holes of bored spirals
beneath our thrones –

Slung from a glorious
future
[we were Gods
for fifty years] –
Gone
now our Royal courts

of too-ludic subjects –
& deference put aside
until we die
[no more
unknowns] –
A lonely

time with no crown –
no heavy sceptres to
sway between thighs
[nothing worn works]