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
retrieved
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?