The Silent Crown
She walks with grace, a queen without a crown,
A regal figure in a world of fleeting frowns.
Her head held high, her gaze a steady flame,
In silent strength, she plays the noble game.
Her steps are measured, like the beat of time,
Each footfall echoes with a rhythm so sublime.
She wears her confidence like a royal cloak,
Her words, when spoken, are tender yet evoke.
But deep within, where shadows softly creep,
She hides a heart that seldom dares to leap.
Beneath the calm, a storm begins to swell,
A private hell, a story she won’t tell.
Her nights are haunted by a thousand fears,
Her pillow wet with unacknowledged tears.
Yet when the dawn comes, she dons her mask anew,
A portrait painted in the bravest hue.
No one can see the battle she must fight,
The war within that rages through the night.
But she’ll stand tall, as she’s always done before,
A regal figure, hiding so much more.
For she is strong, though fear still holds her tight,
She’ll wear her crown, and she’ll win this quiet fight.
In time, perhaps, she’ll learn to free her soul,
And find the peace to make her fractured heart whole.
