an old writer and his words

You sit on your self-made throneand stare at the night skyas clouds gatherand dissipate beneath you.Do you even recallwhy you were cast out,condemned to your cell so vastyet infinitely confining?Does your body rememberthe touch of his handthe crude hunterwho set you aflamewith a white heatthat paled the sun of summer?What do you imagineas tongues of…