Swords of the soldiers cut into flesh and bone. Deep wounds, when the arrows fell. The crown made bloody. A coward cries. An army yields to the enemy.
Dark ages, when a King becomes a peasant. Humbled by his injuries, anger grows and spite is unleashed from his tongue. He is not who he thought.
A scar develops where Love once lived. Empathy knows no bounds, and yet it hides at the thought of death. A growl will replace laughter when danger looms.
Further and further the King wanders through pitch black darkness. He sees no light but somehow he is never blind. A voice calls to him and he moves ever closer to the sound.
He stumbles over something hard, impenetrable. Reaching down, he brushes off the black stone. Green light explodes from the jewel that lays under layers of soot. The King weeps.
His pockets now lined with riches, the King carries on. Though hobbled and weak, he smiles, once, twice, and no more. For the green stone asks him to disrobe and walk through the frost. He obeys but he spits on the stone.
Years and years. An eon to the mind. The king carries the small burdens of treasure that appear on his path. It is heavy and he curses out at the gods. They do not answer. His guts spill out from the wounds that have not healed since the war.
Though his kingdom has fallen, his Queen and his Captains remain. They carry him when he falls unconscious. They see something perhaps he does not.
A white hot sword of truth manifests in front of him. He is cut in half, the flaming blade searing his insides shut. Two Kings now form, The Judge and The Evil One. His eyes now see that they were always a part of him, intertwined in a disgusting heap with a golden veneer.
The Gods finally act. The king is blessed with vision that can see beyond horizons he once conquered. A stone is engraved with commandments and placed in his heart.
Love slowly creeps into his veins, it has not left him. It was only in hiding, biding time. It is fragile still, and does not have the strength yet to take him over. The King Smiles again.
The Evil One will contend with The Judge, and indeed it will even triumph on occasion. But the Judge is the true King.
Responsibility falls on the King, he must rebuild what has been taken from him and what he has tossed away in ignorance.
Standing on stilted legs, the King announces his Kingdom to come. His Queen raises her hands to pray, a sign of faith. His Captains give their salute and begin forming the Golden Army.
The Wounded King fills his chest as he looks out to world. He knows now that he may fall endlessly again. He is exalted beyond his former self. Fractured still, he raises his voice to the clouds and exclaims,
“I was, I am, I will!”
Our Depression 