He stands from his throne,
Complete but always alone.
The dust mocks him, building with time.
His pride being his only crime.
The torn off crown cuts the face,
Of that pale angelic disgrace.
Unhearing, unseeing, woven into its place,
The heart beats until it turns to waste.
With the blood gushing from his face,
He muttered words with rhythmic pace;
“Do you feel the same as me,
The wild fire in all who see?
Unravelling forward my world’s embrace,
Love with freedom to shine on one’s grace.
Leaving forever all fears with glee,
Another, yet better me, will I be.”