To Be King

A short poem that loosely relates to Supernatural, and Castiel.

Fallen, was he who stood alone; eyes turned blank, skin like stone.

the fire which once he had overthrown , burned to its white embers.

He had been cast from his kingdom, flung from the throne,

one that was falsely his own, one which he vaguely remembers.

And so he stands, suffocating in the smoke of what was left behind.

Slowly fading, surely collapsing; in his time of need there was no one to find, and nothing to hide.

This man, one who once was so great, had dropped, gracelessly from the sky,

brothers in arms were left, in the wake of his destruction, left to survive, and to die,

friends and loved ones, with no will to move on; freedom was a dream,

for to be free of this nightmare, was to be free of life itself - to be king.