Remember the days of the kings and queens?
Dirty faces that raced through the in-betweens,
dirty places embraced by the endless scenes
with the envy that bled in deep shades of green.
Remember the tenser of ways to stand?
Had to work for a meal and then thank the land,
had to plead for a purpose and kiss the hand
with a tension unmentioned you’d understand.
Remember patterns of the royal gowns?
Simple person, imperfect before the crown
intrapersonal hurdles through ups and downs
mental scales: to prevail or to seek renown.
Remember how the birds sang twice as sweet?
And the hands would work with the wearied feet,
and the man dug dirt to see his family eat
with conviction, resisting inert defeat.
Remember how lanterns would light the sky?
No, it stayed dark save sparks; nor do I,
so it’s nonsense this conference is undefined
and I’ll keep towards the throne with my lonely cries.