His throne made of cold, His allies of pain, His enimies of gold, and his blood made of rain. He says that it could only be a lie, he swears he cannot be their cost, as he drops to the earth and lets out his small cry, knowing it's his soul that he lost. He wears his tarnished crown. Stares at his rancid emtiness. Again he'll witness his kingdom crash down. His choices leaving only lonliness.
Reason for writing:
There's an old book called The Rain King about a man who,
try as he may to be saint or devil,he would bleed all over everyone and everything that mattered to him.His denial and exile would eventually condem him and destroy everything important.i think that it could be applied to more of us then we would consciencly like to accept.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by The Rain King,Pisces(February 21).