Tribute to the guy who wrote part of this poem(magazine)

"It little profits that an idle king, 

by this still hearth,

among these barren crags matched with an aged wife."

I want to fly,

Have the wind mess up my hair,

Instead of my pillow,

I crave the feeling,

of feeling waitless,

or even scared,

The most thrilling thing of my life,

is not remembering an episode of the Eddie Griffith show,

I now renounce the throne to m rocking chair kingdom,

Sky-diving here I come,

but wait,

I can't miss the 6 o'clock news.