King’s reigning hand on top of his jester’s cap
Wind in both their eyes, and fire descending from the sky

Snow in oblivion.

King’s castle down unto the earth
He knew the bet was lost- known for a long time.
And thy nursing vines regrow
Although not accustomed to the distorted confusion,
Of reality.
Alongside, The moon pours it’s sympathy down upon them
It’s hands on nature’s heart

Snow in oblivion

Tantalizing thoughts rush through the blood
In king’s veins
His hand still resting upon the cap
Tears stream down his opulent clothes,
Wealth matters no longer.
His laughing companion for a short while remains quiet
His once vibrant chuckle,
Now only an echo that continues across the horizon.
The silence moves mountains,
Forces a slight bow of his head,
His cap falls slow-motion.

Snow in oblivion

And bravely he takes the hand of his lord,
Picks up a sharped piece of limestone from the castle
His grand, insubstantial castle,
And slowly pushes it into the hand
Deeper
please
Deeper.
King does not move
He yearned to suffer for something,
Needed, longed for it
Is what his flesh manifested into his heart
And the silence, suspended by his “royal” blood
gushing forth from his skin

Drop, drip
Snow in oblivion.

It was neither’s fault for the world’s collapse
Eventually it was bound to transpire.
Nothing was of merit forthwith,
Their sole purpose forgotten,
Stolen.

Falling with no intention,
He lays with himself
And fantasizes of an age where his resolve was absolute
Now the only motive is to end it all
And wait for his mirth to recover from the edges of his world;
Bring him value- he cannot produce

They are the oblivion in snow