the king,the slave and the merchant cont.......

i met an old man on a train
 who told a tale of a king a slave and a merchant
his service of the queen
black butterflies swarmed with his every breath
i cracked a slight smile as to signify we were on the same side
things change but they don't get better i replied
i have not spoke to someone this insightful
 since the last time i died
everybody wants to be king
 and the slave wishes he owned some
the merchant fares well
on the next purchase
heavy is the head
he produced an old tobacco pouch and asked that i aid him in a roll
i nodded just slightly
 murking through old memories of helping my cancerous father with his fix
it's all a circle
the castle has crumbled he murmered  
when he told me of his destination and plans
to walk into the ocean never to return i chuckled
not to minimize or look down upon his intentions
 only to acknowledge the coincidence of having dreams about it myself
we juggled around a while with wartime jargon
we spoke more in minnesota  
before darkness and it's ever presence  
snuck back in
the lights flicker faster then a humming bird in utah
but right on time with the engine
now we know
 niether of us have any friends  
both of us are tired and drinking again  
for now some deregotory terms for women and their fallacies
our exploits and how they still sometimes hurt
the way things one day were
after a brief break for a sandwich i commented on his shirt
feeling compelled to speak and perplexed
what am i suppost say next?
why is there some unspeakable reason why we always need to speak?
he seemed content so i napped for a while.
i always figure things out in my sleep.....................