to my traitor son,

To my traitor son,

I am both crowned and king,
but they are not the same.
I had everything,
but you. You wanted more.
Couldn’t wait for me to fall,
so you stole my throne.

And the blacksmith poured.
into historic mold
not glass nor gold
but steel, which you’ve not felt.
A tool unscathed by wealth.
The poor man’s strength.

And I took my sword new cast
and ran it through your back.
My son is dead.
For you see there are kings and crowns,
but they are not the same.
There is blood on crowns,
but there is blood in kings.

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