A playful dreamscape opened before him. Hazel eyes peered into the darkness fearing not death, but loss. A lonely man no-one really knew, blood drips and fills the rose colored petals, his breath escapes and paints an endless sky, his heart beats and beasts come to life. The world would be more than his life and his death would be more than his death.
"A man is but flesh, yet his dreams live on" he spoke to an empty room. He crawled into an empty bed missing anyone and everyone he’d ever shared it with. A heart full of loss lives on to give, because that’s what she would have wanted, right? Noble or not it was stupid. No one would disagree with this. Some days were darker now. Judgements became grey and even sometimes black yet they pushed on together.
When the cross was too much to bare or his stamina was lost he looked upon their faces and took a deep breath and said to himself, "One more day, one more time, one more swing, one more rhyme" the disheveled and hideously war torn frame would pick itself off the pathetic ground and move once again. No one understood why… was it British? Sermons of compassion fill the valley of his ears… was it family? Thoughts of honor, love, sacrifice, duty that forced breath into his lungs… was it love? That provided great heat between his legs and forced his knees to bend… was it friendship? that made his feet stomp with laughter.
There are so many cogs in the human machine; each turning, processing a billowing smoke that changed even the air we breathed. A king is no different than a commoner. He leads a grand life because the second he became king he choice to pick up a shield to guard even the ones that hated him, the ones that were disgusted by dark dealings, and uncharacteristic behavior. So maybe it was true what he told sweet Delia, "When I was younger, I used to tell people I was the light in the darkness." something he had said… once or twice before to impress a woman… Her admiration fueled his fire to continue to build, create, and destroy. Not a strong man, not even a wise man, just a man who decided to make a choice than to stand around looking like a blithering fool. One day he would die and she would cry… there is no reason to compound their tears. He only wants you to understand
"Love without fault, Love completely and even when their dagger is pressed into your back compassion" I have three daggers in mine four if you count Miluda and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. These are the true queens of man, the women who will lead man into a new age. I am your shield and you my sheath, use me wisely.
A cold bed is warmed by a single kiss on the cheek and the rest of the night is spent in silence.
Tomorrow would be a hard fought day.
-The Dreams of an Old Man in his City-
