The Pyramid

The
Ivory flaked
Pyramid of flesh
Kneeling to the stars.
Skin over muscles stretch
taut, strain, bellowing forth an
awful symphony of exertion forced.
Groans of trodden echo the palatial garden,
A court bard strums a string-less lute for show.
Atop this culmination of man meld pain and sorrow,
A lonesome chair, a toddler’s seat unmoving on the sway.
The noble climbs stairs of rushing blood, to inspect his birthright.
His face a mask, unseen, he indicates it’s lacking and descends hastily.
In hurried withdrawal he trips, but is not allowed to stumble amidst the pyramid.