I have heard whispers, as obscure as shadows
When asked, the whisperers are struck in denial
For the truth they wish to hear
Is what it’s like to be a king.
Is it having to oversee the kingdom’s fights?
Or is it embracing in lavish delights?
But a king’s job is nevertheless, such stress.
And as a cause, the crown he sets, on his head
Is much heavier, having no rest
Being king involves dealing with the perils of men,
the problems of folks, who’s troubles have no end.
For once they complained, the days were too short,
they asked him for the night to prolong it’s great retort
To the sunny skies, loved by all sorts.
And he replied, to the villages cries,
I can only control the knights on the fields of battle,
Not the heaven called night, which stars twinkle above,
where planets spin and revolve.
The lords and bishops, whine ever so loud,
For days of glorious riches and mountains of treasure
which they long for, each hour they wait.
The king can only say, as the disappointment sets on their face
I have duties in which I have command.
I have to set battles in plans.
I have no time, to bask in golds
For my time, has already been told.
The cries of all, from his subjects and the lords,
pierce his crown,
turning lovely flowers, into thorns.
The king battles his sorrow, he must command,
But king to topples over, from all the demands.
A cracked chess board, only remains.
And a broken king, no longer stands, now blood stained.
PLEASE do not use without credited Grace tompkins.