Inspired by the song ‘soldier, poet, king”

I thought I’d get poet. I got king. Very fitting indeed.

Born with a sword in hand, he was meant to rule
Spoke his words with symphony sadness forever ensued 
They couldn’t be more different even if they tried 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 

The one with the crown, which shone ever so bright
Wished he could give his responsibilities away, even if just for a night
The one with the mind bound to be hazy, 
Wished he could stop thinking about the horrors of existence
And not be as lazy
They couldn’t be more different even if they tried, 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 

Both were tired of living with a burden
One with the role to give away his life,
During the battles of Buxar or Verdun alike 
One living a life that seemed so carefree it was almost an illusion 
Only the poet knew that it was just a delusion  
They couldn’t be more different even if they tried, 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 

This isn’t to say that they didn’t have their own perks 
But shiny houses could only bring so much identity  
And not having to saving a kingdom could bring only so much serenity 
Living as imposters in their skin, 
They had been curated by their own kin.
They couldn’t be more different even if they tried, 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 

He woke up at midnight almost every day. 
With ideas blooming in mind, some he wished went away. 
He was a tortured soul having seen the world raw, 
He knew they could chew him up so he had to put up a thick wall

On the other hand, he was fed with gold, 
Silver and diamonds were used to make his home. 
He had no recollection of when he chose to bear the throne, 
He could only remember his years alone. 
There weren’t many, who shared his sadness 
Only few were meant for this madness. 

On a doomed full moon night
Both of them sat up straight, 
As the moon sparked through their windows, 
“why do i have to grow
why do i have to do anything
cant i just let my demons consume me and simply die” 
They knew that was just wishful thinking, 
They knew the moon was their only linking. 
They couldn’t be more different even if they tried, 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 
This is the melancholy of poets and kings alike. 

Thanks snakers for reading. Love you all!