In a room, but I stand alone
Side by side, sit two Thrones
One for me, and one for my Prince
Haven’t seen his face, long since
He stepped out years ago; promised to return
For years and years, my stomach churns
My empty throne is still empty you know
But I’m confident my Prince will come back, though
But, I get to thinking that he was never there,
That my Prince was a pauper, and his Throne, a chair.
Maybe it was all just in my head
He was not really mine, but someone else’s instead.
I examine my friends, my daily crew
Are they just like the royal Prince too?
I try to hold on, as they fade away
I cry, grovel, and beg them to stay
But soon my tears turn to pools of blood
Glistening crystals in teams of mud
The sun comes out, and bakes the clay
And the artist conforms it to every which way
The thing is, though, the artist is not me
But they’ll make me everything I was supposed to be.
Suddenly, I’m glass, shallow and clear
But now I might just disappear
Now I’m solid, an extravagant vase
Chaffed, polished, tied up with lace
To be given to someone, from their very own Prince
But I haven’t seen mine, long since…
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Submission Name: The Prince
just my thoughts about something. please comment/rate.
