King of the Stage

by misunderstoodemon

A poem I wrote a few years ago what King Kong might have felt while he was on that hated stage.

King of the Stage

He sits there, mourning.

Mourning for what?

I don't know.

Perhaps for his freedom,

maybe for the woman he loves,

and has lost.

Maybe he remembers watching

a sunset together,

before this.

Perhaps he can't gather up

the strength

To snap the chains that hold him,

and that's why he sits there,

waiting.

I do not know why,

why he sits there,

when he could break free.

But he does not know where she is

or does he?

Perhaps, he wishes to leave her,

alone in this,

her world.

His world is an island,

where she came,

and was offered up to him.

Now, he is the offering,

offered up to these

hungry, fearful eyes,

staring at him.

He wants to run,

to break free,

but why?

Why?

Then he sees her,

or who he thought was her

and that gives him strength.

In the end,

it does not matter

that it wasn't her.

That girl gave him strength.

Strength enough to find her.

June 28, 2006.