in a foreign land with another King regnant
immolating his past and his future upon a warm bier supported by prayers alone
a crucible
his soul flew to heaven where it was welcome despite his shortcomings, his mistakes and his greatness all rolled up as a single libation
the first and second were incinerated and no one recalled them as few men assay perfection and there are few saints amid fifty sinners
when it was over his ashes were entombed not in the earth but a fragile temple
I will visit them one day before I die
my sacred brother
Flynnpoetry 