In my palace,
all alone,
I recline as King.
But though my treasure troves
are near bursting,
there is nobody for with to share it.

Within these Marble walls,
all quiet,
I sit as Ruler.
But though my gates
Stand wide open upon plastic hinges,
there are few who come
further than my Moat.

Somehow the sighs,
the whimpers,
the cries -
they are shut and sealed
within the throneroom.

I wallow in my love,
but how do you refill
that which is full?
I teem and I brim,
I contain so much to pour.

Perhaps I could make you my Idol.

My treasure does not stagnate,
but shimmers brighter each day.
Zealous jewels
that would find their way
to your deep pockets.

Perhaps I could make you my Monarch.

Poetic devices,
and words.
metaphors and similes.
Such a novice
at portrayal of yearned Love.
Wish I didn't need to yearn,
wish I never took for granted.

No coin of mine
can grant wishes,
but the Stars above do.
By my tears I swear it.
They are coming,
I know it.
Deep down,
I feel it.