Our Queen is No More

into the glass and silver pane ~ a reflection past of a red red mane
but above the view a person stands ~ and holds my heart within their hands
to ever shine a face reversed ~ and screaming out loud a horrific terse
where people do stop and peek, ogle and stare ~ at the figure alone just standing there

the visage is old and creased from time ~ and holds no smile or grin sublime
when the eyes wrinkle up in their perfect disdain ~ to assert what you all come so close and refrain
who is this creature so sadly at home ~ without them a friend while they gaze from their throne
and what is its purpose in living at all ~ whilst the peasants rejoice at an ignorant ball

hair keeps on changing the color does drain ~ now no longer what was as a red red mane
has now turned staunch white likely a ghostly decree ~ when the looker stares on tis all they will see
they that taste the fruits of the tree ~ shall arbor the earth in their longing for sea
and lament all the loners and depressed the lot ~ for to give a damn now for ought not what they got

she sits in her timber and leather and lace ~ with the brassy old tacks that will hold it in place
taking in all that is witness to deed and done did ~ full knowing her dilemma of soul full of id
will there ever be heaven to embrace weakened bones ~ or a poet to loan her a sweet epitome
once heralded for all that accomplished men do ~ but onlookers on only see what is shrew

in the dark place she sits and she hides and she cries ~ when the passers on know nothing of royal demise
with the windows blacked out and the curtains tight drawn ~ she will take her full slumber at sunrise's dawn
and retire to her chamber of bed velvet dream ~ in silently torment so not one soul screams
tossing and reeling confounded of peace ~ her loneness and madness gone long ne'er cease

as she dips and she wanes as her sentence ticks on ~ none of sanity left as her last resolve gone
into the starry night with the beggars and thieves ~ with the discarded members who get no reprieve
she will take her last supper at a kitchen's fireside ~ while waiting for claimers for to just abide
now gone from it all she knows secrets and truths ~ but whispers ye none for our queen shows no proof

of the place she is headed or the place she will be ~ and the angels whether fallen from clouds mystery
as she reigns no matter where her cracked feet were to fall ~ without ever a word or a sword to recall
to kill her in stave off the destination she found ~ would make dust cause to flutter and spew down on ground
when the last final tear drop of sweat hits the floor ~ no one will notice our queen is no more