The crown glitters like fool’s gold— A paperweight for a kingdom buried in sand. His face, carved from sunburnt desperation, Grins through dust-streaked teeth. The desert stretches forever, empty as a promise, Where nothing grows but regrets and the wind. Behind him, the glass glows dim— A cracked mirror to an empire that never was. Hands claw the dirt for a way back in, But the road is gone, swallowed whole. Kings don’t rule from holes in the ground, And legends don’t come with escape plans.