April 1st: Started 3:37 in class. Finished 8:28. In my dorm. Based on Edmund Blair Leighton’s ‘A little prince likely in time to bless a royal throne’.
Who Is To Carry The Head?
Who am I to lead, if not myself?
As I resist the calling of king,
and by so doing, become an accidental leader to an intentional nation?
When I am no more princely than personified justice
and yet by my own words,
have the power to weld or release such chains of freedom.
Who is to carry the head,
when they cheer for a crown I have yet to earn?
might such a boy make of a blind world,
that finds in me their sight?
How dangerous a world
in which most look to me as light
simply because I was born into a dull brilliance
and cast the glow of an assured tomorrow.
Why must boys look on older men to answer the questions within
and then blame their guide when their world’s set aflame?
Is not his conscience alone
the compass out of the quandary
and the answer to the questions they pose?