Monsieur is quiet, sitting by the fire.
He's just confessed the greatest sin of all.
If you were born a man to be admired.
You have no right to stumble, slip and fall.
He doesn't hear a word they say. The music
For him is nothing but a battle cry.
His age was wrong. Indeed, it's so amusing:
He lived before the "catcher in the rye"
His lover's tall and handsome like a flower:
A flower that you pick to tear apart.
Love whether makes you weak or gives you power.
It's just another kind of martial art.
Versailles is gold, Versailles is bright and loud.
But for Monsieur its rooms are prison cells.
He would have left, if only King allowed.
But there's another truth he never tells.
The truth is he belongs to gold and shimmer:
The only place that's good for him on Earth.
There's no escape and death is no redeemer.
Monsieur is only going back and forth.
Since life is just a slowly melting candle,
And nothing is too hard to leave behind,
What kind of war a royal heir can't handle?
The one inside his own tormented mind.
YOU ARE READING
Philippe d'Orléan (Monsieur) #Wattys2016
PoetryA piece of poetry inspired by Versailles series and an incredible actor Alexander Vlahos
