Of Princes and Kings

Princes and kings wear their crowns upon their heads, gems and jewels they can scarcely see; their power invisible to self, till it slowly slithers down with the passage of time, and occludes their vision. What then remains of their majesty? For loneliness and fear turns them inwards, they lose the upward glance, bitterness is the just recompense for a lifetime of romance. Along a protracted destiny their own shadows incessantly ambush them, spilling acute moments of fear like fermented beetlejuice. Unspeakable torture, these tightrope walkers of fate. There is nowhere to run, great king, lest you choose to abdicate. An occasional repreive may await the kings, when they chance upon an uninhabited cave and seek a kindly repose, scattering wild nuts upon forsaken bear hide, a portrait of scattered pride. But then fear persecutes them again, from brazen skies to sea. Vamoose, pidgeon! Harbinger! 'Tis the same fear that persecutes me.