After years of censorship-
not unlike living in a world of dictatorship in which no one disgraces its King.
I dared not.
I would not-
speak of the burdens of the flesh.
It was merely self-preservation.
Not, that of loyalty to my King, but fear of retaliation.
My weapons, were few.
None, were tangible.
Daily, walking a skewed line of love and hate, careful not to stray from script.
I left a trail of breadcrumbs for the observant.
There were no takers.
Inevitably, my body cringed and vigilance prevailed.
As, I resumed an all too familiar task of, ‘keeper of the gate’.