I stand in your palace
Where your former stool sits with open arms
And your crown hungs
Yearning for the touch of your head

Stools for your elders lay bare
Knowing not when nominated buttocks
Will clear their dust
And make them again shine

The prayer ground stands still
Like a river in ice
None kneels to plea
None tries to flea
And none bows in indifference

The executioners sleep
Knowing there is no command
No work
So their swords sleep
Like drunk gluttons in their holidays

The seers have shut their eyes
Like Satan holding the gates of hell
Shut from humans
Their ears shut to the chaos without

Invisible souls which crave your magic touches
To be visible cry
Asking for re-election in the least
But I stand unwavered
Knowing not the head your crown will fit

I fear for another
Whose crown will make me his seat
I fear for another
Whose bracelets will make me his prisoner
I fear for another
Whose anklets will make me his chained
I fear for another
Whose words will sentence me
Into the dungeon of despair
Like you did

I am the palace
I have the wealth
I live in me
So can’t have me locked
I need a king
But don’t need a queer
You served a minute
And reigned into ruins
Holding the reins of thorns
Like a wicked owner to his horse
Bleeding left scars
Scars which howl at the thought of you
So I write this ode
In a forgetful ritual
Hoping your visions quietly embark
On a one way journey into eternal rest
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

By amoafowaa

Just a simple Ghanaian trying to find the best in our society. I may be fun, I may be interesting, I may be funny, I may even be foolish or intelligent, but it is all based on the mood in which you find yourself. I believe our minds make us who we are. Know that, pain, no matter its 'unbearability', is transient. Unburden or delight yourself for a while in my writings please. And all corrections, advice and opinions are welcome. Know that you are the king, queen or royal on this blog. :)

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