Heavy Are The Crowns

Heavy are the crowns we wear,
Invisible, but not silent,
Bendable, but not fragile,
Loving, self-sacrificing,
Unable to be forgotten,

A laurel of desperation,
Seeking safety, warmth, and control–
Small, but sturdy in novice hands,
Arches, possibilities within reach,
Fitting loosely on an ambitious head,

An anadem of Renaissance,
Provoked by imagination and intellect,
Eager, encompassing,
One that births revelations,
A statement to those who offer their gaze,

A garland of frugality,
Dulled and scratched in the face of war,
Marred by gruff, firm hands,
Witness to crimson, bone, and coal;
Treasured even in the new era,

A chaplet of enduring strength,
Waterlogged with the weight of grief,
Ashes, dense as streams,
Polished to a shine with regrets,
Dinged, dimpled from the buffeting of obligations,

A coronet of shining radiance
Filled with the adoration of her subjects,
Jewels, not of decadence,
But those that still shine with opulence,
Valued beyond her last days,
Hidden away between painful breaths,

A diadem of bittersweet ties,
Reflecting a lifetime of servitude,
Unearthing the value after a dynasty dies,
Buffed to a mirror reflection,
The lines tracing the story of ghosts,

Heavy are the crowns we wear,
Passed onto us from predecessors,
Our fingers trace a mottled ancestry to times unknown,
But the love and sacrifice are not forgotten.