He climbs a thorn filled vine
To scape over the tallest of brick walls.
Nail like thorns breaking off in his palms,
With each slightest movement of hand.
Some briars even as deep as breaking through the backside of his hand.
Although the pain immense,
His grip holds tight, to achieve the top of wall.
His legs shredded, from the razor like thorns.
Pants completely  torn,
As soon will be his flesh.
They say once a king has taught his men all they can learn. To beware, beware for some men take the gift of kindness to their advantage. Once shown the strength held in numbers, if his men choose anarchy. They can defeat and overthrow. Un grateful,  un knowing, selfish beings.
Unleash the Lions!  As he run for his life. With each grasp, climbing higher each time. Bloodied, torn and exhausted. Finally he lay his beaten body on the top of the wall. His once followers, never man enough to follow his call. Cowards! He yell with his last whimper in voice. ******* go to hell,
Once given no choice.