She was the heir,
The crown so heavy, a golden one.
Her hand being twisted with expectations,
She heard someone calling her name;
Good god, open those cuffs,
Her fingers cannot see the blood.
Face seems bright , her nerves were pale,
Like the the night without the nightingale's verse.
The crown pushed her feet beneath,
Spine bent down taunting evolution.
She turned around and saw no one,
Her breath slowed down.
Heard a lullaby , and closed her eyes.
Now she can fly high above,
She opened her crown and left the palace.
Oh! A descendant became the ancestor.
✳👑✳
YOU ARE READING
Kintsukuroi
Poetry✨Broken things can be mended with gold plated words.✨ Highest ranking : #26 in poetry. I hope you feel good as you turn the pages. Do vote !
