The King With Marble Eyes

Entombed in paint there is a king

Staring proudly from some wall

Elsewhere inlaid are chiseled eyes

Looking out on museum halls

Long ago he forged his fame

Made for himself a lordly name,

That when said, though he be dead,

Echoed all the same.

Legend writes that when he roared

He made thunder deaf!

And when quiet it was told

The wind held its breath—

A crown so heavy on his head

It had to sleep in its own bed

Oft away campaigning doom

He kept his throne within his tomb

He wrote his name in a dozen tongues

Of which now are spoken none

Cared for life not on this earth

Measured worth in renown won

And though no one hears his voice

The king’s mandate still remains

In debris scattered after rains

Proclamations on the plains.

Yet his name so heard in songs,

He would not have known.

And his face to whom belongs

Is not carved into stone.

The King who lived his life to die

Whose likeness dull on coins resides

Must watch from marble casket

As his memory erodes.