(inspired by the above fractal image)

It is cold and dark
where he sits on his throne
brooding, and alone.

In the halls of stone,
where Time has left its mark,
shadows shroud rooms barren and stark.

He whispers to his loyal pets
hovering on silken wings...
spinning forth the tales of kings--

and dreams of past rememberings.
All that remains of former fetes...
tinged with sorrow and regrets.

Quiet ghosts now fill the halls.
His heart daily feels the cold
of lost companions in Time's hold.

Of what use is a king's bright gold
when no one answers a monarch's calls,
or holds him close when darkness falls?