We the kings

   We the kings when we were young. 
We had no doubts, knew no wrong. 
Filled with gumption, so very strong. 
The only requirement was to belong. 
Endless parties and laughter. 
With the world by the balls. 
Pills and thrills, 
not a slight inkling we had it all. 
As high as the sky,  following the call. 
Three sheets to the wind, 
We the kings never saw our empires fall. 
We dreamt on through. 
We had been blind. 
The truth was clear and we had lied. 
We the kings were left behind. 
Soulless ashes, tables scratched 
and filled with a gut wrenching few grains. 
This is what is left. 
This is what remains. 
We the kings own the blame. 
We have become peasants. 
Devoured and depressed. 
Trying to find pieces of what we had been. 
Knowing now what we wouldn't know then. 
That is when a king is humbled to a man. 
He must devise a great plan. 
To drag his vitality back to the top. 
All the way oozing and bleeding out what is bad. 
Leaving the sorrow but remembering the pain. 
Unknowing that in his heart a king was slain. 
Stabbed right through a life in vain. 
A little bit bitter and a lot less bold. 
We the kings could not be told.