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’.