Kings: A Tribute to Their Power, Their Time, and Their Seat

In all of history, there has been a seat,

A throne that bends the hall with silent weight.

Kings ascend at tender age,

Yet power is no lighter in youthful hands.

Even in old age, frail and weary,

Each step a labor, each word a whisper of authority.

Still, when they enter, the hall obeys their presence,

Every gaze turns, every soul acknowledging

The weight of the office, more than the man.

I saw David, at life’s final breath,

Weak in body, yet sovereign in command.

His voice carried finality,

His hand, even trembling, shaped destiny unseen.

The crown remembers when the flesh fails,

The sceptre rests upon shoulders unbroken by time.

In a king’s grasp, power is more than a tool;

It is law, order, consequence,

Willing homage of land, gold, and loyalty.

Their table never bare, their courts never silent,

Surrounded by the living and the unlived,

The whispered counsel and the silent weight of history.

Yet all kings, however mighty,

Pass their mantle, yield their throne,

For the crown is greater than the man,

The sceptre larger than flesh,

Their glory fleeting, their reign but shadow.

And in all this, One throne rises above:

A crown that bends to nothing,

A sceptre unbroken by age, infirmity, or death.

Even kings, even crowns, even ages

Bow before Him who reigns forever,

The Ultimate King, eternal, unshaken,

Whose authority outlasts all time.