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The Child Who Bowed Too Soon

He knelt as if the floor were altar stone,
 palms pressed, lips shaping psalms half‑learned.
The candlelight made halos of his hair,
 a novice heart rehearsing grace.

Yet outside, banners cracked in wind,
 lords weighed their swords, not prayers.
The boy was bound not for the cloister’s bell,
 but for the hollow clang of crown.

Innocence bent beneath inevitability,
 a child who might have prayed,
 but was compelled to reign.

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