Transitory Tiara
A crown,
not always metal, not always bright,
sometimes, a halo of sweat-soaked hair,
earned beneath a scorching sun, a laborer's quiet triumph.
Sometimes, the delicate curve of a newborn's skull,
a fragile promise, a universe unfolding,
a reign just begun.
A crown,
the silver dusting of wisdom, etched in lines,
a cartographer of lived experience,
a silent testament to battles won and lost.
The artist's brow, furrowed in creation's fire,
a circlet of inspiration, a burning vision,
a kingdom born of pigment and shadow.
A crown,
the weight of responsibility, unseen, unfelt,
a parent's weary smile, a shield against the storm,
a silent, enduring sovereignty.
The survivor's gaze, clear and unbroken,
a thorny wreath of resilience, a hard-won victory,
a testament to the spirit's unyielding strength.
A crown,
not always coveted, not always visible,
but a mark of bearing, a sign of what is held dear,
a fleeting recognition, a quiet dignity,
a temporary, or eternal,
burden, or grace.
©bfa032525
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
|