The Crowned, The Servant, and The Bystander

A trio ripped apart by ego

The Crowned, The Servant, and The Bystander

Once joined at the hip

All sharing the youth-filled belief

Of a life connected with happiness

Knowing none of their realities stuffed with grief

The first blessed with knowledge

A boy small and dependable

Honest bystander, noble and pure

The Crowned found him expendable

Under his new mask

Lies a child grabbing for friends

Missing the ones who are missing

Ascend slowly or you’ll get the bends

The second graced with strength

Bonded to a selfish taker

A girl labeled a slave

The Crowned used her as a caretaker

Living present day wandering around

The unforgettable words of her protected

Grasping for a past that was never really there

No time for air when your seat is ejected

At last the time is here

We have reached the bottom

One last identify to reveal

A child brought up in autumn

Continue cautiously

For his words run deep

Sprinkled with a brilliant passion

Keeping his true feelings in a locked away heap

The third and final, cursed with tenacity

A boy once full of life

Transformed to The Crowned

The form he posses stabbed him with a laced knife

Although it is sad to say

His crown remains atop his head

Sparkling with the tears of others

If only he could wake up in his old bed

Tired and overrated

He softly screams his desire and places his label

Hands up and ready

As he throws the bystander across the table

Issues from A to Z

The Crowned is a true masterpiece

A diagram of what not to do

Once a wish of simple peace

On that day, we all received a grim reminder

Masks crack and games end

Angry boys turn to puppet master men

To him their hearts they’d lend

The truth untold

Playing with the future

He dips his words in our minds

We are the wound and he is the suture

Please don’t worry too much

His reign is almost over

Three years at most

The greatest inter personal crossover

Their lives continue today in mayhem

The Crowned, The Servant, and The Bystander

It all started with a fight

Walls laced with candor

A trio turned duo stands together in controlled sections

Even the closest of birds fly in different directions

surreal poetry
Deanna Moody
Deanna Moody
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Deanna Moody
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