summons

he is a king without a kingdom,
born to rules hearts, as they say.
little does he know, he is the ruler of the universe

he has everything he could ask for,
and everything he didn’t.

the sun rises in the morning, shy and eager
hoping to shine on the right side of his bed.
the stars align themselves 

like little girls in a ballet school,
wishing they shine down the path he walks on.
the trees whisper among themselves, 

hoping against hope
that he look up at them as he passes by.
the rain pours down joyously, 

dancing among the leaves,
putting on a brilliant show, 

knowing he might look out the window.
the women pen for him the most romantic poems,
praying he read them, even if only to discard them
like dry shrubs through a forest of fire.

he is king to all, and slave only to himself,
he knows of mountains he has scaled alone,
and oceans he alone has crossed.
he rules the wind; and bids the waves on their journey to the horizon
he calls upon the birds to sing songs to his liking,
he persuades the landscapes to blur in to his paintbrush.

he is king to all,
slave only to himself.
and yet he cannot ignore
the summons of his heart.