The King of Cups
by Columbine
The King of Cups was my favorite doll, with his eyes so wide and
blue
He healed me but never made me weak and taught me to be true
I made him a robe of dirty rags and a crown of crumpled tin
And tied him to a wobbly chair, for opulence was a sin
I left him staring out to sea, his salt tears stained my dreams
Of living my heart in comfort, weaving silver of moonbeams
And swore that I would not presume to profit from that heart
Even while I scoffed at those who sought to suffer for their art
I wandered up and down the shore, my pockets stuffed with shells
Touched not the pearls that rolled across my toes between the
swells
For what are such as those to swine? Or to an honest mind?
To take them seemed to doom myself to shallow life and blind.
It took all of my courage when I saw it bobbing there
To reach for an old sea-scoured doll lashed to a battered chair
And cradle him who loved me most through all my spoonfed shame
Untie the rotted cords and hear him murmuring my name
And hold him to my bursting heart until I dared look down -
His blue eyes in the tidepool underneath a starry crown
Still shone with understanding and the kindness that I craved
Shone bright enough to burn the lie that shaped how I behaved
So I wrapped him up in velvet, and myself in velvet too
He smiled within me, I at last had learned how to be true.
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