His throne was christened in a gown of silver thread
That sailed down from the skyline as the sun had the great oaks bow their heads
And his crown sparkles in the shimmer of light
That filters in through each breath of cloud
And the gemstones are lit with a cold gleam
Such elegant melancholy is his dominion
That as he sits within the wake of another morn's rise
He marvels at the beauty of his kingdom's despair
And the people sigh in song, tuned to the elusive breeze
And they watch, and they glimpse, and they wonder
His eyes are older now
Lit from an inner flame that still burns with such passion beyond his years
They've seen the sorrow of a soulless generation
And his dry lips crush together as he takes his solemn kneel
His eyes sensing the world behind him
The blank creation
Quietly awaiting the return its denied existence
Too long as waifs have they dwelt in shadow
Nothing more than a moment in a memory
He feels the weight of his metal moulding itself to his head and stands
The silence is deafened
The mist of an age swept through with sound
And he raises his eyes and turns, pivoting to see them
The foreigners of freedom
**Once again I find myself struggling for a category. It's sad but hopeful. He's downtrodden but he has a determination that's keeping his soul going, and those people are there to watch him for a reason, there to see things change... SO it is in the sad category, but I think it's more hopeful.
