A pained KING

A pained king sits upon his throne,
His crown a burden, heavy stone,
His heart weighed down by sorrow's moan,
His spirit broken, all alone.

He looks upon his kingdom vast,
Once vibrant, now a thing of past,
His people suffer, die, and fast,
His rule has failed, a die was cast.

The wars he fought, the battles won,
The spoils of victory, all gone,
The blood he shed, the deeds undone,
His legacy, a fleeting sun.

The crown upon his head, a curse,
His scepter, symbol of his purse,
His riches, nothing but a hearse,
His reign, a time of pain, perverse.

He dreams of peace, of days of old,
When love and kindness ruled the mold,
When justice reigned, and truth was bold,
When hearts were free, and love was sold.

Alas, those days are gone, he knows,
His rule a tale of endless woes,
His tears, a river that overflows,
His pain, a burden that never goes.

But still he sits upon his throne,
A pained king, but not alone,
For in his heart, a spark has grown,
A hope that someday, love will be shown.