Solder, Poet, King.
She never wanted to be The Soldier,
She just wanted peace, justice,
It came with the burden,
The sword with a hilted blade,
Which she was forced to pick up,
They fought her, so she fought back.
She took her love,
And turned it to a strength, a weapon,
She fought against them,
With all the anger of the dead,
And despite the price she had to pray,
She won.
The Poet saw beauty,
She saw beauty in the pain,
She painted hills with the blood,
But never forgot the lives of those lost,
She told the forgotten stories,
And sang the songs of the hopeful.
She saw strength in others,
But never in herself,
Pain is art, she says,
Because at least then,
There will always be something to create,
Maybe she could create some ground to stand on.
Born to rule, The King,
She didn’t choose the path,
But it is the one that led her,
To the people who needed her,
Where she stepped forward,
To fill the absence of a leader.
She offered support to her people,
Back broken from the weight,
With no-one to share the burden,
But The Soldier at her command,
And The Poet by her side,
Soldier, Poet, King.
