Still left searching for the light,
I am but a regent in the night,
crowned by a flickering flame,
ruling all I dare to name.
Facing fathoms thick with dread,
I sail in search of a spark ahead—
a single sovereign, bright and true,
to pierce this heavy midnight through.
To set my veiled world ablaze,
and burn away this weary haze,
to let my faltering eyes yet see
a clearer destiny for me.
Armed with but a scepter of rhyme,
forged to outlast the fall of time—
not to wither on the crumbling page,
but to endure beyond each age.
So I scrawl these fleeting lines here,
hoping to make some meaning clear,
before the cruel light of dawn,
when this Queen is stripped to pawn.








Superb work.
Scepter of rhyme…that’s brilliant!