There is a king upon a hill,
in silent sadness, sitting still.

With tempest eyes and ragged air,
He sits upon his royal chair.

Afraid to breach the rocky wall,
He’s never seen the sky at all.

There He sits, upon His throne,
in His castle, all alone.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.