PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

O brittle circlet, forged of gold yet hollow,  

Thou weigh’st upon my brow like leaden sin.  

I wore thee once as heaven’s chosen shadow,  

Now find thee but a mask that mocks within.  

Sweet Anne, my gentle star, thou art departed,  

And Sheen lies broken, as my heart lies too.  

Thy breath once stayed my wrath when I was parted  

From reason’s hand; now rage is all I woo.  

What is a king, when love and faith are fled?  

A painted saint, enthroned yet powerless.  

The sceptre shakes, the crown bows down its head,  

And majesty dissolves in emptiness.  

Thus falls the dream that I alone could keep:  

A throne of visions, buried deep in sleep.