OF KING AND TEMPLE

OF KING AND TEMPLE

My temple is shabby.

Yet I am King.

For the world Is. Is Broken.

My Temple is Shabby. My walls cracked.

My pillars fickle, my roof weary.

My font is parched.

My torch is sapped. Soused.

My altar is drained and desecrated

The soul that dwells within is shattered.


Yet I shine with a light that is yet undimmed.

And my spirit is at once listless and grave.

So…

For I am King.

Lean on my pillars, seek shelter beneath my roof, drink from my font, warm by my fire.

Worship at my altar.



Though my temple is shabby,

I am king.