My Kingdom
I contemplate visiting my kingdom.
Off to sit on my throne,
A throne made of dreams, wishes, and porcelain.
I travel off into the distance to do my duty,
But my path is blocked.
"NAY!" Says the Moorish guard,
As his yellow sign taunts me.
Breathing deeply, he stares off into space, blocking my path for hours.
As my time draws near I'm forced to carry on,
And forced to move down the hillside to a smaller, colder place.
I feel confined, longing for that which is closer to my existence.
My duty complete, I move back up the hillside,
And continue my existence.
© 2005 Kenneth Childs