I'm the uncrowned king
of this beleaguered castle,
My battles remain forgotten,
My victories remain unsung
My subjects, my liege,
and the peasants who tend the cattle
will only etch in their hearts
all the wrong things I've done
I find no peace in this cramped territory
the people are restless, belligerent,
Let my rule be a haphazard allegory,
People can be decisively irreverent
By the time my heart decided to remain still,
A better man should be in order
for the beleaguered castle that needs to be filled
or there will never be another
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a Tired Poet
PoetryWhat kind of poem would you write if you stopped caring about everybody else? Confessions of a Tired Poet is a collection of short poems that gives you a backstage pass to the life of a poet who's sick and tired of his life. This is the front seat t...
