The Tree and the Crown

kiss the hand that holds the scepter. No

I would rather hang from a tree,

let its branches hold me like a lover,

than bend my neck beneath

the weight of any crown.

What is a king, but a shadow?

A flicker of power on shifting sand,

while the tree stands tall,

rooted deep, unshaken by the wind.

Let others bow to thrones,

kiss the hand that holds the scepter.

I will dance with the leaves,

sing with the birds,

and be a part of the wild,

free and untamed.

For what is freedom but the breath of the earth,

the whisper of stars that never kneel?

A king may rule over men,

but who can rule over the soul

that hangs from a tree,

swaying only to the rhythm of its own heartbeat?

Let the world clamor for gold,

for titles and crowns,

but I will choose the sky,

the open air,

and the taste of freedom on my lips

as I hang from the tree,

laughing at the folly of kings.