Tuesday, August 31, 2021

He Was My King

             

                       I


A generation of kings

assumed their role 

promoted past their proper measure

barely equipped to 

encourage fresh minds

and never expected 

to develop young hearts

as they could not offer to others

what had never been shown to them.


They ruled

not with great edicts or fanfare

but by silent force of sheer presence 

and a stern look through piercing eyes 

that confirmed your fall from grace 

into the valley of their disappointments

as only on rare occasions

might they produce

a slight nod and quick grin

acknowledging achievement 

in someone performing 

exactly as expected.



                    II


Each king took a queen

who did her best 

to offer solace and comfort

to those who roamed the castle halls

yet all the while suffering in silence 

as days slowed to a crawl

to steal her beauty in a place 

where romance had left 

without saying good-bye

and the promise of 

happy ever after

was replaced by a life 

of hidden secrets.



                    III


Those who lived 

under the king’s rule

would eventually leave the castle 

and spend many years on crusades 

to experience 

the joyous victories 

of love and birth 

and the sadness of death 

that would fire their mettle 

and return them home 

fully formed

carrying offerings 

of tribute to his legacy 

that they might find a new place 

in the heart of the king.


Yet those who returned 

found that after many years

behind walls of stone

their king had lost his taste for battle

and could smile more easily now

in the presence of his growing dynasty

and his impending fate

while his heart would simply rejoice 

in the joy of his blessings.



                    IV


And so his loyal subjects 

made silent vows

to carry the legacy of their king forward

by emulating the strength of his character 

while being twice the opposite 

of the way he once ruled

and when asked 

after years of his harsh failings

why their loyalty never waned

they would simply reply


“He was my king.”





Dedicated to fathers and mothers of eras past.



Ken Owen    August 2021

Van Niddy Press