The Masked Ascent

A kitten in a gilded hall, tail twitching with borrowed pride,

Does he think the throne bends to his tiny paw?

He struts, eyes wide, chasing shadows of respect.

claws unsheathed for show, but never for bite.

Will the world applaud the dance or laugh at the farce?

He hisses at empty air, proud of his shiny fur.

prowling a stage where echoes mock each step.

Legacy buttons him tight as a collar too narrow,

and each purr conceals teeth that never really bite. 

A kitten still, gilded, restless, and loud in a room too big.