Poem by Elise Cookson, photograph by James Baldwin

Their heads adorned with gilded crowns,

Cast in gold but filled with lead,

That compliments their tarnished gowns,

As onus wilts their noble heads;

As union pulls on faded threads

These sacrifices drench the sands

Of broken hearts and tired hands,

Yet never seem to meet demands,

Of longing -

Their power taunts; their restless sleep;

Their obligation pays;

And like the shepherd to the sheep,

The leaders long for better ways,

To tame the ghosts of better days

But trouble haunts the peaceful,

The wicked, the deceitful;

And there’s all the people, each full

Of longing -

The crowds grow grimly, fiercely restless,

A kingdom under siege;

The resistance darkly turning listless

Yet the people still beseech

A cure for fatal breach

These cries and pleas don’t go unheard,

The truth more painful, more absurd,

But no one dares to speak the words,

Of longing -

An end to pain, an end to ignorance

The simplest of wants;

Hindered by the costly penance,

The approaching crisis daunts

Brought by turncoat confidant

The Unknown Nobles hold the key

But blinded egos yield mockery

Smothering the saviors’ deeds,

And thus refusing the mourning pleas

Of longing - for peace.