The Coronation, 2025 by Aeneas Middleton

36” x 48” Mixed Media canvas.
 
Hidden stands a king, unseen of common eye,
his being wrought in shadow and command.
He is not gone from presence,
but withdrawn—
mantled in that selfsame power he is sworn to bear.
Black lines descend as edicts roughly drawn,
laws set down in haste, yet held in iron.
Each stroke a covenant against the softening of the heart,
each mark a seal against former injury.
They do not conceal him only—
they invest him.
For dominion, once assumed, becometh countenance.
At the right of center lieth the crown,
unheralded, unbright with triumph.
It resteth heavy,
laden with remembrance and dear cost.
This hour is not of rejoicing,
but of continuance made lawful.
Within, the king is sorely marked.
Trauma hath passed through him
as fire through timber,
leaving form intact, yet substance altered.
 
Trust, once dispensed in innocence,
now lieth interred—
honored, yet forever denied return.
Yet breath remaineth beneath the vesture of rule.
Pale blues move as the last mercy of air,
bruised whites confess a man eclipsed by office.
Red beareth witness to the wound,
though speech be forbidden it.
He regardeth the world from behind authority—
not in dread,
but by resolve.
This king seeketh no affection for the pain.
He governeth by restraint,
by distance measured and deliberate,
by the knowledge dearly bought
that trauma once held dominion over him,
and shall hold it no more.
Thus is the coronation accomplished—
not with shout nor song,
but with endurance.