Long ago in a cave somewhere,
Lay a tired man with an empty stare.
Shackles of steel held him down,
And on his head lay a golden crown.
He sat alone, chained to stone,
A king upon his rocky throne.
A fire blazed with lulling light,
As if to mock his unfortunate plight.
He sat there quite contently though.
As if he himself didn’t know,
That his cave was his cage,
And his whole world was a stage.
A play of shadows filled the walls,
And he stared intently at it all.
Not realizing that with every wasted breath,
His story drew nearer to the dance of death.
Days became months and they to years,
Uncertainties became doubts and they to fears.
This king of clowns began to wonder,
Wonder, which tore his illusion asunder.
Yet life’s monotone and dreary clone,
Was all that he had ever known,
And to venture into the unknown,
Was too much for this unhappy drone.
As his final hour was drawing nigh,
He mustered the courage to finally try.
The shackles faded into air,
As if they were never truly there.
He climbed higher and higher,
Past the illusion, past the fire.
And upon escaping he felt a light,
Warm, welcoming, shining bright,
But with that light came a chill,
That soon silenced all his thrill,
As he turned and saw the sky,
Death’s grip freed his soul to soar and fly.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The Cave by John Huang )
The Road Not Taken
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