The Prince

There is a prince,
Who sits in his room reading tales,
of love and romance,
written at the beginning of time,
with faeries, dragons and evil witches.

He reads them frequently,
For several hours each and every day,
up in his room,
only stopping to eat and sleep,
to dream of the life fighting dragons and witches.

Never does he grow tired,
of the same storyline every hour,
with a gallant knight,
fighting the fire breathing monster,
in order to be with his fair maiden.

He is lost in this world,
imagining himself the protagonist,
slaying mercilessly for his one true love,
who unquestionably loves him back,
and they live happily ever after.

He dreams his own novel,
in his mind he fought,
day in and day out to win the heart,
of the girl behind the wooden door,
screaming pleas and cries of help.

There is a prince,
sitting in the room that I stare at,
reading by candlelight the tales of the past,
envisioning himself a part of it,
and I scream pleas and cries of help.

He is my prince,
head in his books,
reading about the love of his life,
who waits for his sweeping hug,
and I stand with arms wide open.