The Throne

The Throne

Looking past the crowd of clergymen and royals, 

Who look at me while I sit on the throne,

Wondering of what the future beholds, 

The gaze of a million looking past the soul of the person who sits on the throne. 

The throne that is placed in the courtyard, 

Looks past the extent of its rule, 

With a history as glorious and rich,

Trying to maintain the aspirations of a million that are governed by it.

A family that not only governs the weak, 

But protects it from the invaders that come bearing swords and bombs,

From a ground full of turmoil did the king drive the nation away from,
Bring in not only the fortunes and laurels of bravery but a heritage for it's successors to pass.

A country that has been tied together by the blood and sweat,

Of people who stood guard at the ports and the grounds of the royal kingdom,

But then did a great war come, 

Shaking the very foundations of the countries near the kingdom.

After a gruelling battle that I had administered,

A country that was changing,

Since the havoc of my brother's abdication,

To the crisis that world had witnessed.

I stood there looking past the ground, 

Towards the farthest end of the land, 

With a drift of the cigarette that I smoke,
I sleep for a time that I now deserve without the weight of crown and sceptre.

With my daughter now walking down the abbey,

Being watched from kings who now grace their thrones in heaven,

Readying her shoulder for the burden of the duty that now awaits her,

I walk along by her side invisible to her sight.

She sits on the throne which I once graced,

Taking the solemn oath that I had taken,

With she being anointed by the holy oil on her hands, chest and head,

I see the weight of the country that she now wears with pride.

My soul now ready to grace a throne,

Kept vacant in the land of the dead,
I sit with my peers and friends,

Watching the new queen from the skies above.

Unsteady

Unsteady

At the cliff, 

Where the sun was bidding farewell, 

The moon behind me was peeking behind the hills, 

Looking at me as if it was asking me questions about me being there. 

Sitting there looking past the dusty hills,

Wondering about nothing but you, 

It was eerily quiet that night when I first met you, 

Sitting all by yourself crying your eyes out.

The streak of hair kissing your cheeks, 

And you trying to move it away,

Just peering through the skies,

With your eyes asking questions to god. 

The cold night made you shiver up, 

With the mink coat rendered useless, 

Just walking down the street,

Trying to keep your composure. 

But you looked like a raging storm ready to engulf a ship, 

Trying to somehow find an avenue of hope, 

With me just grabbed by an imaginary lasso of your innocence,

Followed you like a shadow. 

With the raindrops dripping your soul in sin, 

You sit near a cafe like a lost puppy looking for a master, 

Looking around and then transfixed your gaze at me, 

Trying to reason with the fact of me following you. 

Asking me to sit besides you, 

Holding you close to heal the broken heart, 

Trying to keep you warm that chilly night, 

Giving the unsteady rocky soul a shore to rest by,

With you sleeping in the car parked besides the road, 

I sit and talk to the hills,

To find a way to guide you past the broken boulevard of your dreams,

And with that calm baby face you smile and cuddle me up, 

Looking back at the life we left behind and waiting for the snowed roads of our ice cold heart melt open.