He walked into the room as if through air,
his feet above the floor we had to share.
He never met an eye—why would he dare
acknowledge what he couldn't see was there?
He sat mid-room and let the traffic split.
A shove for those too slow to step aside.
The servants knelt to dress him, bit by bit—
his socks, his shoes, his monumental pride.
The world arranged itself around his weight.
He was the sun. We orbited. He shone.
We learned to bow, to wait, to hesitate,
to treat the ground he walked on as a throne.
And yet. Look at him now. That's all I'll say.
The room still stands. The king has walked away.