Alone he stands

There walks a man, aloof and cold,

A heart of iron, a soul long sold.

In mirrored glass, his gaze remains,

A kingdom carved from selfish gains.

He strides through life with lifted chin,

Each smile he wears is paper-thin.

No hand he lends, no friend he keeps,

For other hearts are far too cheap.

The world could burn, the stars could fall,

He’d shrug, unmoved, untouched by all.

Compassion’s call, a distant sound,

His footsteps echo—hollow ground.

The winds may wail, the oceans weep,

And still his pride runs fierce and deep.

A monument to self-made worth,

An island adrift on cracking earth.

Yet in the dark, when silence spreads,

And shadows crowd his lonely bed,

The whispers crawl—like creeping vines,

"Who sings your name when time unwinds?"

But care he won’t, not now, not then,

For love and loss are gifts of men.

He’ll guard his throne, his icy crown,

A king alone when lights go down.