Crown

Who are you, there, who hides behind a crown? Is your value in your gemstones that shine so ever green? But that you wear a crown tells me who you are. You are valued by others who watch from afar.

But it is not a glinting stone that reveals to me a heart unshone. For crowned in yellow, you might be, no royal garb can make you seen. So who are you, behind the crown? Who stands so high above us all that growing close should make us fall? Who rests upon a gilded throne and rules with fists of iron?

So far you rest to hide your eyes behind those shining stones. What words you speak should echo forth to hide your hidden tones. Do you weep when you have judgment wrought, that kindness is your mercy? Do the words you speak in silent rooms fall gently to the air? With lifted crown and undraped robe, does your heart yet beat blood red?

Who am I to gaze upon that face so far away? To wonder who it is who would not dare to say? Unmoving, you stare, unwavering, you call. The words you choose to not reveal. Your motion builds a wall. Or could this be the truthful you? That the night brings with it nothing new?

Judgment is my answer. That my sin be against you. For if you show me kindness, I shall know your colored blood. And as I stand before you, shall I gaze where lay your eyes. Should to me a teardrop fall, then so shall I know life. That value lies not in crowns of gold, but in a heart that grows not cold.