If you’re not sitting on your throne

Who is?

Phantom rulers weaving tight

the fabric of your life

to keep you bent low for crumbs

contorting your Self to twisted shadow

casting what others want over your life

not truly serving anyone

voices which are not yours

drowning out the song of your soul

in the crowded cacophony

of the market place world

What would your life be

if the invisible chains were seen

your crown in the dust


if you cut yourself free

your face

toward the sun

If your every gesture

sprung from a

spring of pure being-ness

Flooding our desiccated kingdom

Into an oasis of renewal

What if you ordained yourself

Sovereign of yourself?