Crestfallen as my fallen crown
lying now upon the ground
trapped in yesterday's salty tears
like rage suppressing petty fears.
Clouded jewels in time-worn gold,
what once was warm is icy cold
a kind of cloak that can't be torn
are my thoughts despondent and forlorn.
I cannot the storm cloud break
before my own soul I must shake,
arouse my pulse, bring back my breath
before my crest falls nigh to death.
Shake off my shackles, old and new
and bring a change long overdue
bend toward the tear-soaked, elegiac ground
and from the dust retrieve my crown.