in a far away place stands a ruin covered with velvet thorns,

dead roses their companions.

the only trace of royalty and scorn

the long forgotten throne that sits abandoned.

long before, there were velvet roses,

velvet tapestries, velvet capes, bold and brilliant.

now nature eats away at what was man’s chosen,

no longer rooms, once filled with millions of words 

mere whispers present in the silent woods.

fireflies replace the candlelight of yore,

and the velvet thorns the velvet gowns of before.

silhouettes that used to be excited at the chance, 

the thought of a dance 

on the shining ballroom floor.

the sparkling glimmer of past dreams,

now lying dead within the forest green.

once laughter, now an abyss

in which only ghosts can reminisce.

come, join in the swaying of the spirits,

that celebrate this castle of olds, 

archaic columns cracked and empirical,

at the ruin where the purple velvet holds.