his soldiers not beside him;
into my world he did stray,
no men of war to guide him.
Outside his kingdom’s walls I find,
he’s lame and nearly blind;
he struggles in the wilderness,
he’s not the outdoor kind.
I am the beast he toyed with,
with me he was amused;
my sorrow, the result
of the power he abused.
I am encaged no longer
behind his iron bars;
in this domain I’m stronger,
although I wear his scars.
He stutters and he stammers
as I look him in the eye;
a frightened boy before me,
it seems he wants to cry.
This pompous, regal lord
could be unto me, prey;
yet the beast that he abhorred,
now lets him walk away.
He limps back to his throne,
back to his hollow glory;
the prison that’s his own –
he's an actor...in a story.
M. G. Sparks
