Pauper Bow To King, King Bow To Pauper
There are times, when I the pauper, pretend that I am King.
Power uncontested have I, the master of everything.
Beloved by all my subjects who adore me from afar.
Festivals honoring this miracle me, my name etched in the stars.
Tailored cloths adorned with jewels to cover my royal hide.
A simple tear or pin prick drip and I toss them all outside.
The finest foods from around the world brought in each time I dine.
Fill the goblets of glowing gold with most luxurious wine.
My leisure is of royal command my joy by royal decree
Just think of it, a whole Kingdom thinking me High and Mighty.
A knock disturbs my nap one day in late afternoon.
Another ball in my honor at the next full moon.
Posing for another sculpture, another portrait commissioned.
This bard’s song of my good deeds, and that one’s new rendition.
My every day so busy now, my Kingdom must prepare,
Strong against our enemies, may they all beware.
I toil over strategies and rulings of my court.
Solving problems of those little people with whom I do not consort.
Into bed I fall asleep exhausted every night.
My advisers unrelentingly needing my ear at first light.
More battles to be won today new subjects fall in line.
Soon the entire world it seems might very well be mine.
The people they need food and drink, I must divide the lands.
The royal lists of would be Lords, all under my command.
Arguments continue on it seems they never end.
So many to bow before me and yet I’m without one friend.
Every decision a higher cost, nothing’s simple on this throne.
It has been near fifteen years since I had some time alone.
Slumping on my golden throne, lost in royal thought.
Sometimes when I am King I pretend that I am not.
Copyright © A. Sanders | Year Posted 2007
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