A crown does not make someone a king.
The woman he loves and call his queen,
prays and stares from afar, for all the blood
and tears he will spill.
All the people he led and promised, craft a
crown for himself. No gold, no diamond
but pure silverlight.
All he survived and almost got him killed
made his spirit bend but never faltered,
for his wounds of honor are self inflicted.
Power did not corrupt him.
Well prepared to lure himself and pick a top.
Heart of a lion, a shrouded armor and a blooded crown,
he is the king...