A Regal Reverie

What good is a king?
Stuck in an illusion of false belief.
An illusion where he holds the world on his back,
His trembling legs threatening to snap in half if he doesn’t soon find relief.
He spares a cautionary glance at his watch, finding no time for grief.
He can't fight it, for he knows time is not cheap.

Apprehension is the minds extension,
Not for kings of fact nor fiction.
But his throne sits high, and deep down he’s scared,
“My feet may never touch the ground!” His crown declared.
He snuffs the thought,
 he must stand stalwart and tall,
For he rules an empty court with gossiping walls.

He trudges through fields of ash and fire,
For before he expires, he wants the future to aspire for more.
Yet like all, the king tires,
Dragging foot of lead and leg of wire.
And still, he tries! For he is king in name and mind,
He cannot watch himself fail; he simply won't abide!

Yet deep in his castle, where he stands forlorn,
He peers at the man who is king no more.
His crown now replaced with uncertain esteem,
Until the rising sun greets him once again, as king

‘Vanity, all is Vanity.’