Coronation

Deep, deep red, a dark red rose.
Smooth, silky, soft fabric fluttering.
Chocolate hair piled on top,
Milky pearls shining.

Tiny corset restricting me,
Like the fear held deep inside,
Gnawing away like a rat,
And all I want to do is hide.

Knocking resounding through the oak door,
Pushing me farther back into the darkness,
The door creaking open slowly, tentatively.
And from beyond floats a voice saturated with kindness.

The voice begs me to join the gala,
But I refuse.
The voice commands me to join the gala,
And still I refuse.

The joyous sounds behind the door fade,
And I breathe a tiny sound of relief.
And for now the terror is over,
Gone into the night like a thief.

Recalling then the heart wrenching scenes,
The weary starving families,
The barely clothed children.
I have witnessed from afar these tragedies.

A sense of responsibility surges through me,
With a deep breath I open the door,
With long strides I walk down the hall.
Into the ballroom, and across the floor.

Through the crowd I all but flew,
Up the steps to the throne,
And there I nervously perch.
There I study every stone.

And at last the final moment came,
When every carefree moment ends,
When the responsibility will begin,
Down onto my head the crown descends.