A King's Lament
The king sat upon his golden chair and brooded. His hair had gone slightly white with age and the golden locks that marked his youth had grown thin and wispy, falling lazily down the side of his face with dispassionate fervor. He leaned to the left, then to the right, trying to gain a comfortable position as he cracked his knuckles. Adjusting the crown upon his head, he called out for one of his servants. The holler resounded hollowly through the stone halls until it finally fell upon the ears of an old dodger who sat in his wooden chair half asleep. He rose his old bones to bid heed to the king and shambled into the throne room.
"M'lord?" the wrinkled sage said, his weary eyes adjusting to the light of consciousness.
"Many a long year I have sat upon this throne and commanded my kingdom." The king said, "and many triumphs we have endured here, is that not true?"
"Tis' true, sir. " The dodger nodded.
"My enemies, though they were many, have all fallen to my will and might. Is that not true also?" The king asked.
"Aye, tis' true as well sir. " Responded the dodger.
"I have tasted many things. The thrill of victory, the crush of defeat, the sadness of loss, and the exuberance of power. I have tasted many things but there is one that has not touched my tongue. "
"What is that m'lord?" the dodger asked.
"Satisfaction. " The king responded, "I drink but I still thirst, I eat but I am never sated. I always want more. "
The End