Gold and Red

His pen has endured many tragic battles
in the dying of the last decade;
a mark of time on the barrel
of his blood stained weapon.

It's curves remind him of the women
he's lost along the treacherous way,
in finding an end
to rid him of love and decay.

Maybe this is why he writes,
so that someday when all is shown,
he can reflect back on what he left
behind and visit the graves
that he's passed on the way home.

Those tiny, little hearts he once held
so close to his own,
no warmth now to give from the ground,
buried like every other Queen
that's sat next to his throne.

A King of the court,
a gentleman, a jester, a fool,
caught in the stare of yet another
gazing jewel,
and like the thief too,
he conceals his face with a clever disguise;
his identity hidden
behind the complexity of his eyes.