A king on his throne
Balances everything on his plate.
The platter is widened
To fit his overzealous weight.
His plate is made to fit
All he wishes to sit
Upon its golden trim.

Stripped of his plate,
A king is akin
To a childish tyrant,
Taking the plates from those
He knows will stay silent.

Defenseless, plateless,
His people grow weary.
The king doesn’t care.
“Bring the plates here,” he
Says. Without plates,
The people starve.
The king gorges away,
Unaware of the people’s decay.

When he asks yet again,
“Bring the plates in,”
There is nobody to deliver.
So the king starts to quiver,
He paid the price of his
Impetuous display that day.
He sits on his throne,
The king of nothing
With everything on his plate.