The blank, the dark waves
surrounding, bleeding

I am losing

The war, the will
it burns,
ashes and wind

flowers grow
for dead tyrants and the blessed alike,
the truth, the difference
is in the shadow of belief.

History,
a kings coloring book,
an idiots guide.

Beguiled and crooked
we stumble when we should fly.
We, the footless peasant

We all pray that kings
colored inside the lines.
Some of us chuckle....

Knowing

The only crayons he ever had
were green and red