Crown Without The Fire Poem by April Humason

I wore the crown, but lost the flame,
Still bore the title, lost the Name.
Anointed once, now torn inside,
The Presence gone — and nowhere to hide.

I stood where glory used to rest,
But fear had hollowed out my chest.
The songs still rose, the trumpets called,
But in my soul, a silence crawled.

I offered what I shouldn't give,
I reached ahead — I wouldn't live
Inside the timing Heaven made,
And so the Spirit slowly faded.

Not stolen — but gently grieved,
Not taken — but quietly retrieved.
I felt the warmth grow far away,
Like sunset on a once bright day.

I led a nation, lost a guide,
My pride became a widening tide.
The forms remained, the words were said,
But God's own closeness felt… instead.

I feared the people more than Him,
Let trembling roots outgrow my stem.
And slowly I stood just outside
The place where holy fire resides.

Music could calm me in the night,
But could not bring back borrowed light.
Only mercy could restore my breath,
Only repentance could heal the death.

A king with hands that once were raised,
Now aching for the Presence's gaze.
Not fallen — but far from near,
Longing for what I used to hear.

And if I cry, and if I kneel,
Would heaven's nearness turn and heal?
Would oil again touch broken skin?
Would I be home… not just within?