They build their thrones from borrowed gold,
stacking echoes, tall and bold,
draping silence, laced with fear,
calling it a crown to wear.
They speak in thunder, loud and grand,
afraid the world won’t understand,
they carve their names in stone so deep,
lest time erase what they must keep.
But skies won’t bow, nor tides obey,
the stars won’t turn to light their way.
For those who beg to burn so bright,
fear nothing more than lost of sight.
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