My crown for sleep for I am weary;
I have worn my reign, now I am done.
Go tell the saints, no longer fear me,
for the devil knows what I’ve become.
I’ve bloodied the plays I have authored
when I strayed from the heart He had saved.
His shepherds and flocks I had slaughtered
on the path that I trampled and paved.
I’ve scorned His truths with indifference,
I have darkened His light with my name.
To have soured the fruits of His presence
as I sated my cravings for fame.
Wrought slanders to blandish my speeches,
for the rabble, they loved everyone.
They sang: “Here’s the man who can lead us.”
But to where have all the good men gone?
They fell for the tales of my valour:
how I pierced His flesh with my horns.
And spat in His face for my pleasure,
how I mocked Him with a Crown of Thorns.
One’s might out of terror and pillage
whilst my armies marched fat on the spoils.
A toast, to who sculpted my image
and my feats on a canvas of oils.
I, who had the touch of the Midas;
I governed from the point of my sword.
To live at the whims of my justice
and perish on the blades of my word.
Of the one, of a thousand faces,
my minions played the pawns in my plays.
Who would kill to do up my laces
in brawling for the crumbs of my praise.
When found me alone in my chambers,
to what purpose, this actor’s disguise?
The visions of truths in my mirrors
and cracking with the creases of lies.
What befalls the lead and his players,
of a theatre played putrid and bled?
When those, who to arms, now to prayers;
of what left, to bequeath, but the dead.
Where forth is that dream without sorrow,
when I followed the love of His song.
When Peace was the quest, my tomorrow;
to go to where the good men have gone.
-
Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2025 04:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Golnarmoinamini.Standbypoet
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Comments4
I'm vibing on the confessional weight to this piece; a fallen ruler peeling back layers of grandeur to reveal rot, guilt, and a longing for the purity he once knew. The imagery moves from the public stage, brimming with power and spectacle, to the solitude of chambers and mirrors where truth seeps through the cracks. And it’s the lament of a leader who bartered away goodness for glory, now haunted by the question of whether the men he once admired and perhaps the man he once was, can ever be found again.
Dear, arqios,
Your review is absolutely spot on and I very much appreciate the time and care you have put into it. You are most kind, thank you ever so much.
Wishing you all the very best,
Tony.
Most welcome Tony🙏🏻🕊️
This poem begs the question of whether Satan is a separate entity or merely a component of each of us and speaking from within this part fights his battles not only on exterior battlefields but interior ones as well. Whether King or serf we often ask the same questions of whether it is all worth it and where we got to worth the price. A poignant poem I might say rhymed and metered soliloquy. Very nice Tony
A soliloquy, it is, Soren in what power is worth and the worth of power. Always happy when you drop by, my friend.
Fond regards,
Tony.
Always my pleasure Tony and that is truly meant my friend
Truly wonderful poetry
Loved this stanza in particular,
When found me alone in my chambers,
to what purpose, this actor’s disguise?
The visions of truths in my mirrors
and cracking with the creases of lies.
But your last is fabulous too, a genius rhymer and I am truly in awe of your work. 🌹
Dear, Teddy,
You are much too kind but keep it coming - hahaha! Your lovely words find me delighted and for that, I do thank you so very much.
Wishing you good health and happiness,
Tony.
Another wonderful write, I look forward to reading your work and it never lets us down, enjoyed the read
Dear, Tobani,
As always, how lovely of you to read and respond to my offerings, greatly appreciated, truly.
Fond regards,
Tony.
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