Crowns

Misbegotten glory, vengeful pride which is to be your undoing.   Comfort and familiarity is your enemy, you grow complacent.   Walk through these Ill walked groves with the fear and skepticism you were taught.   And treat this journey like the lesson it was supposed to be, not a memory.     For each chance you obtain, that image looking back at you.   The crown that isn't there, the unjustly deserved.   That delusion of greatness, that malformed glory.   You are human.     Yet demanded of perfection, are none but a man.   The river cares not for your foundations, the river shall change.   The river cares not for your roots, the river shall erode.   Yet, you seem to be under the delusion of security.     For each trial, for each decision, you feel a weight upon your brow.   But, king you are not.   A paragon you are not as the mirror stares back.   You are human.     The mask cracks, the song fades.   The tempo wrong, the cadence off.   The wrong key, the strings out of tune.   Mistakes made clear, yet aware.     You believe yourself king, you believe yourself master.   Kind fool you are, still learning.   Therefore a student, perfection impossible.   You are human.     Glory in the windows of a soul, fire in the passion of life.   Rotten by way of life, cold in temperament of time.   Two faced and whole, needing of sanctuary.   Bereft of peace, an autumnal wind to soothe the soul.     The mask cracks, the crown falls.   The silence that follows, to humble oneself to life.   To know that confidence, a lie.   You are human.     Yet, each night you beg for clarity.   Yet, each night you crawl for safety   Yet, each night you ask for ablution.   Safety sought only in the glass.     Your crown was a lie, the river having removed.   Your crown was never there, the river having eroded.   Your crown was a comfort, the river having revealed.   You are human.     Heavy is the crown of the mind.   Heavier still, the crown we give ourselves.   That glory your soul craves is the source of that poison, pride is the symptom of shame.   Peace you found in the bottom of that bottle.     Peace you always wanted, the mask cracks.   The bottle sits half empty as the stars sojourn above, the bottle falls.   The mirror shows its face again, the shattering ignored.   The jagged edges ring your head in it's mirror spilling across the floor.     Only then do you know.   Only then do you understand.   Only then do you see the falsehood of ill begotten pride.   You are human looking at a crown of broken glass.