A coin drops down,
Sinking into the well.
Sparking, a child-like frown.
An anxiety that nothing could quell,
Walking away as it continually fell.
The thought struck me as I walked,
An overwhelming urge to talk;
No king nor god will come,
Of that I am pessimistically sure
To rescue you from your slum,
Nor erase this pain you endure.
No matter the words I want to say,
I continue and forget my plan to take you away.
I wish to be in your presence,
To speak and tell you what I want.
To confess the love of a peasant,
And speak the words my heart can’t.
“I came all this way to say;
I am here to take you away.
A hand to give and make yours,
Excuse me, for I am flawed.
No prince nor god am I,
The one who dies with every tear you cry.
Just a man, here I stand.
Waiting for you to take my hand.”