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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Making of a Prince II: A King with Too Many Names</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Eyes of adamantine admiration, <br>Eyes of green jealousy, <br>And like my own of enigma; <br>Skin of robust splendor, <br>Skin of soigné plutocracy, <br>And like my own of harsh grating; <br>He had a extensive collection<br>Of these myriad visions</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Brands and names, <br>Epitaphs and banners…<br>He had too much already<br>And I cannot endow him<br>Of a gift, of a name, <br>But in spite of the perplexity<br>Of his multitude, I knew him<br>And the core of his magnitude</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A soul, a heart, a thousand words, <br>An assuaging fix, a destructive machinism, <br>Triumphs and defeat; <br>Overwhelming his names—<br>He was a king, he was a king.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He was a brittle glass of a king<br>Capable of holding many dishabille<br>Possessing ice and fire, fire and ice, <br>For candid tears and for affections<br>And as he meander in this shriveled globe<br>In the superfluity of his winding paths<br>The sun casts his diadem loftily<br>And the glass that his vessel was<br>Spewed a vexing prism in prance<br>Of its thousand shades and inflections<br>And the affliction was upon him</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This king with many a name<br>Displays his scars too flagrantly<br>For it was more noble, as he believed, <br>Than his unutterable bank of grandiosity<br>And perhaps, in his vain rummaging<br>In myself: a mirror bijou of slivers<br>He saw himself, in a dour vantage, <br>His eviscerations, and faults, and errs -<br>A little coy prince wilted from a dream</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=471590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Under the sun's duress, in the fear's chest<br>Juxtaposed the graves we built and exhumed: <br>We talked of riddles, <br>Gambled with death and life, <br>Shuffled reveries, <br>Wrote garish words<br>And slurring veracity, <br>Survived genocides<br>And treacle poisons—<br>In his clandestine dominion<br>Deeper than his clad loin<br>I had rubbed myself luster<br>And before I depart<br>I saw what he did: <br>A coy little prince</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a></strong></div>

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