The Crimson King

Silver is the shadow
he casts on every stone
purple is the fabric
emblazoned on his throne

Golden was the touch
long since passed to dust
blackened is the breath
once formed exhaled as rust

Sodden is the cloud
rising through the halls
bloody is the scent
they track to bring his fall

Weakened are the legs
propping up his will
sunken are the eyes
ashen in their grill

Maddened is the one
who maimed to place him here
empty is the womb
for which they both pay dear