random stories

king - a poem

i am a ruler.
whose brow is laid in thorn.
i took the quiz.
i was convinced that i was a soldier.
the anger inside of me, the feeling of constant failure, my impulsiveness driving me and my furiousity and anger about this cruel unforgiving world.
i thought nobody will ever be okay again and that made me angry.
angry at myself and the world, duty and suffer. duty.
how i hated that word.
thriving on independence and the rage against sorrow.
i am fighting all the time, so i have to be a soldier,
i thought.
and then when it said king it hit me.
the wave of realisation, the perplexity, the shock.
i used to be a soldier.
independent, angry and fighting for peace. i used to be a soldier until the crown of responsibility and the curse of duty were burdened on my shoulders.
until the crown, the curse made me realise that anger doesn't solve problems.
until the crown made me realise that it was my responsibility to take care of this kingdom i oh so cherished.
a mere soldier couldn't protect a kingdom all by herself, so she fell and fell and fell until she stumbled, landed and got raised. raised into responsibility, unwillingly crowned by the curse of being powerful.
a soldier being raised into the nobility. the nobility of ability.
ability, responsibility, burdens upon burdens.

there used to be soldier, who carried a mighty sword,
she never tore a city down,
yet always cursed the lord.
she is now a ruler,
whose brow is laid in thorn.
smeared with oil like david's boy,
oh me, oh my, oh lord.