This pedestal I’ve been made to stand on,
This throne that’s been given to me,
My people who look at me with love,
Expecting me to reach the stars for them,
Expecting me to chase their dreams.
What about mine?
I see such confidence in their eyes,
But much disbelief in mine.
Is this my purpose in life?
All the blood I’ve spent, all the tears drowned,
All of them, to reach heights I don’t want to reach?
This kingdom, my home, lays in my hands now.
Not given, not asked for, but forced upon me.
People to feed, with a mind as cynical, as tired, as mine.
Hands stretching, out of reach, fatigued.
The final objective, all that I’ve learnt, all that I’ve been taught, put to test.
With no strength, in body and soul, I crawl, the crowd watching with enthusiasm.
They feel proud, they don’t see the pain, or do they?
A bag of sand lay in front of me.
Worthless for me, but desirable for the crowd, for my people.
There lay another bag, a bag of water. Priceless. The container of all life.
I reach for it, but the crowd isn’t pleased.
They want the desirable, it’s all they want.
I’m the prince, I’m supposed to listen to my people.
Sacrifices, An important part of life, and inevitable.
I lose my soul, they gain their happiness.
I lose them, but they never had me.
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