Oh! Dear life
your majesty, my liege.
Your cling to me—
thin as paper,
like a necklace fragile,
jewels strung on copper.
But my choice to you
is no stronger.
I do not hold your hands.
Instead—
a mirror stands between us.
My hands reach out,
yours reach back,
but the glass keeps us
from touching.
There is little left
for me to follow
beyond the path
fate allowed.
As crowns are meant for kings,
they are nothing to the dead.
And my soul—
long ago it drifted,
leaving only silence.
A pang still beats in me:
“I have already suffered.
Please, no more.”
The cry of a prisoner
justly tortured,
the whimper of a child
unjustly struck.
Oh! Cruelty.
Oh! Tragedy.
“What more
can you take
from me?”
No comments:
Post a Comment