The Prince

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Just a child-like man,
Open and honest—
Heaven forbid that!
Naysaying is a disease.

Only the judgmental
Zero in on others’ sins,
Zapping their own asses—
Yes, that’s right!—in the end.

Often misunderstood,
Sensitive, artistic people
Bring forth light through darkness
Only to be labeled evil.
Uniformity will always be
Religion’s ruination. Let that ruminate.
Never conform for miracle men.
Erasure is not enlightenment.

Poet’s Note:
An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays series, The Prince confronts how sensitivity, honesty, and imagination are often mistaken for weakness—or worse, threat. Misread, moralized, and reshaped by those obsessed with conformity, such figures are labeled dangerous simply for refusing the mask. This poem refuses that lie.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
 
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