The Prince Poem by Joseph Cross

Living in solitude,
He awaits his day to rule.
The next in line he sits enthroned,
Chained to his fate.
They bring him food,
Each day another dish.
All are good,
But none is filling.
He is alone in life,
A stranger to all.
How could a king condemn his own,
Locking him away for grooming?
Would it not prove more affective,
To show him life’s truths?
But no.
He could be lost.
Assassins plot daily to find him,
Though he knows they never will.
And so he awaits his freedom,
To leave one throne for another,
No true escape from his fate.