Those words form crowns upon my head
A sacred gift not to be mocked
Hovering above,
Pronouncing me dead!
If seen, the words crumble to the ground
In any region not to be found
If caught in mine eye they shudder
Teardrops shaking, ripping through clouds!
So I stand here in my place
Quivering in deserved disgrace
As words fall onto my head
Their auras create a solid ring around
Power resounding through time if controlled,
Otherwise playing the messenger
Their call solemn
Crushing me to death
So my only hope is when I fall
Words encircle a still heart
For then, a true crown ‘tis pronounced.