The Exile

Microfiction Poetry

I was once an exile scorned
No pride within my name
A beggar in a foreign world
Left marked and marred by shame
And yet when I was losing all
So everything I gained

So I became a sailor then
And lost my soul to sea
I felt at home with open sky
And never quite so free
Than when my friends were strangers all
And all I had was me

The sea does not give up her dead
But I refused to die
And so I stumbled back to shore
Without a reason why
Sword in hand, I struggled to stand
And left with no goodbye

The warrior’s trade came easily, 
A sword drew sharp the line
My loyalty was bought by lords 
My gilded helm was fine
The wars and battles followed me
Yet not one fight was mine

Ages passed, the war did cease
And oh, all sides did sing
I laid my sword to rest at last
I was no exiled thing
No bonds now could hold me
As I once again took wing

So I went on along my way
Though little did I bring
I smiled—the first in many years
For I had everything 
My freedom and the world was mine—
For once I was a king

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