Broken Crown - Poem
The broken crown upon your head
surely leaves scars upon your flesh.
With its sharp and jagged ends,
it must mark you with no relent.
I ask you, fair King:
How does one balance the world
from ear to ear,
the weight of men,
resting upon your neck?
How does one rule what is evil,
when he is evil himself?
How does one wage war,
call a hundred souls to engage
in endless battles,
aware that he is sending an army
to a certain death?
Perhaps the crown upon your head
was once crowded in jewels,
the very elegance of a king.
A scepter of gold,
a mind of a thousand thoughts,
a commanding voice,
ashes and ashes,
a broken crown.
YOU ARE READING
Outcasts, Beatniks, and Wanderers: A Collection of Short Stories
Short Story"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page" - Saint Augustine -- [in which emilia releases a set of short stories with absolutely no theme connecting them] also includes random things i never finished and rants
