Whenever he desired solitary existence
the castle called his name,
it began with a whisper
a tone that deafened this realm.
He often wondered how he would reach it,
the rock hung beautifully in the cloud strewn sky,
the anger of the sea was his reminder,
of such a turbulent life below.
He imagined standing and admiring
those poor souls scurrying below,
continuing their ant like lifestyle
while he was king of his flying mountain.
But once turned back from the painting,
looking for a sign to comfort,
he realised that so many blue brush-strokes,
could only point to sadness.
