Sometimes, you have to choose what to do with your power.

The palm of my hand holds a crest, one of power and fear.
I hold it gently, hiding it from the masses I see past my hair.
A god once spoke to me, it told me I was chosen to stand.
Stand above the rest and lead them, guiding them with my hand.

But, I am weak and small; I am neither strong nor confident.
My posture is frail, my condition pale; I am far from competent.
Given this power, strength I now must wield
Am I still me, the one I now see sealed?

Flowing like a river through my body, the magic released
It is a blessing I am given by the sacred beast.
Now I stand, back unyielding and tall
Before you people, a rigid wall.

Fate has been taken from me, shaped to what I am now.
I am to be what the gods please for they have made me bow.
Yet, I see the fear struck eyes of those beneath
What I once was looks up at me lying through their teeth.

Who am I to decide the fate of others; I am no god.
But then, is it even a god’s right to change what was flawed?
A blessing I have been given, risen from the ashes.
A curse I now use to fight back with action.