History tells of brother’s scorn,
clawing their rise with tooth and horn.
One’s to rest upon tomorrows throne,
a golden perch to call their own.
Eyed by others to take that place;
the hidden, visceral and puckered face.
With but one to thrive each will strive,
who will choice to stay alive?
While kings of yore as knight once shone,
kings that bore by night just moan.
But history bores so I’ll say no more,
mysteries conclude in days for sure.