The King And I Poem by Alexander Downie

The King and I we sat down, he'd grown oh so tired of wearing his crown.
He threw of his robes, he looked me in the eye, raised his face to the rain and started to cry.
He kicked off shoes from manicured feet, his regal body crumpled like freshly cut wheat.
His jewels scattered around a marble floor, a name written boldly in future folklore.

The goblet was empty as it smashed on a wall, his empire discarded as he started to crawl.
No servants were there to witness his shame, no courtesans followed, no people came.
I tried to hold him to ease his pain and ran soothing fingers through a freshly cut mane.
As the storm past he walked to the door and in to the night a kingdom no more.