(Dedicated to the best best friend in the whole world, Jenny Rigiel)
Our Monarchy
We rule the world.
Small and wonderful in pink palms,
We calm the seas that stir in our unrest.
Yes, even gods have off-centuries.
But when we're on, we herald dusks and dawns
To make poets pause and compose.
Such is our reward.
Even when ruling from different shores,
We are hand in hand.
No matter how easy in separation to drift from the plan,
We always return and remember
What brought us together:
A day when we were skinny, knee-skinned dreamers
Who thought to rule a place of late night whispers and howls.
A place where houses speak for eternity
And laughter is the only tender.
Where no storm ends our fun forever
And every lantern leads to larks.
Where music makes our fences
And dance, our march to war;
For the battles we endure are ones of fettered fancy
And answers to lifelong questions:
Will we still rule at bedtime,
When the lanterns dim and we no longer feel our fingers?
Will we still command the flow when our lives are ebbing,
When the webbing of our dreams seems only sticky string?
Will we make thrones of brittle bones
And trumpet age in youthful tones?
The answer is clear:
How could we not?
We rule the world.
Our Monarchy
We rule the world.
Small and wonderful in pink palms,
We calm the seas that stir in our unrest.
Yes, even gods have off-centuries.
But when we're on, we herald dusks and dawns
To make poets pause and compose.
Such is our reward.
Even when ruling from different shores,
We are hand in hand.
No matter how easy in separation to drift from the plan,
We always return and remember
What brought us together:
A day when we were skinny, knee-skinned dreamers
Who thought to rule a place of late night whispers and howls.
A place where houses speak for eternity
And laughter is the only tender.
Where no storm ends our fun forever
And every lantern leads to larks.
Where music makes our fences
And dance, our march to war;
For the battles we endure are ones of fettered fancy
And answers to lifelong questions:
Will we still rule at bedtime,
When the lanterns dim and we no longer feel our fingers?
Will we still command the flow when our lives are ebbing,
When the webbing of our dreams seems only sticky string?
Will we make thrones of brittle bones
And trumpet age in youthful tones?
The answer is clear:
How could we not?
We rule the world.
Jessica, I loved this! I don't what else to say. lol :)
ReplyDeleteThank you for the comment, James! And thanks for stopping by! :)
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