Saturday, 18 October 2014


A prince doesn't soil his fingers 
With the filth of mundanity; 
Pedestrians and plebeians must 
Walk down a separate road- 
One that is cobbled with their bones 
And with their blood, 
Because that is their destined path... 
A prince must bear the weight 
Of his bejeweled crown, 
And raise his heavy head, 
And carry it to the highest peaks 
And the shiniest thrones- 
Wage wars against his demons, 
Win battles against his foes, 
And win gold medals of respect 
From the ones that now stand 
With bowed heads before him- 
Happy to call him their King...

No comments:

Post a Comment