A poem aimed to capture the tension between external achievement and internal vulnerability – the public vs. the private self.
They rise as he enters
Chairs whisper backward
Applause drifts like smoke
Yet the boy inside…
sits hollow and lonely.
He signs in ink
black as the quiet ocean
and the room hums –
A restrained animal
breathing beneath his skin.
He speaks
Markets bend
And men nod
But no one touches…
the soul hiding inside the suit.
The play ends
and solitude descends like velvet
The tie loosens…
The invisible rope tightens
around his chest.
He stares at his reflection
in the darkened glass –
A king crowned
by fluorescent light
And still he whispers:
“Am I enough?”
The city pulses below
obedient, electric
Like the hollow echoes
of those he knows.
He pours a drink
not for thirst, not for warmth
but to feel…
To remind himself
He is alive.
He has built empires
from air and risk
Yet the child inside
still trembles
at shadows on the wall.
Even kings need to feel
someone to witness their humanity
someone to hear the silent screams
that rise from the abyss of the subconscious
Unyielding…
Merciless…
Mirroring back
every fear kept inside.
His lips taste the bitter drink
He sits unarmored…
A sovereign of glass and bone
Learning at last
that enough
is not a verdict…
but a pulse –
A slow, living pulse
that hums beneath the hollow of his chest.
~Sofia E. Falcone~
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