I confessed my love to her
In pretty words speaking softly, fondly
And she spake unto me:

You fool, do you not realize?
You bring forth tears to mine eyes
For thou hast not realized
What thou hast said or done.
Thy words are as an empty shell
Deserted by its host, never to be full again.
Thy colours are beautiful, thy words sweet,
Yea, sweet to the taste, but vile in the pit.
Thy heart—Thy heart is a heart of words.
Thou art empty.
Thou hast not found thy meaning.

I protested, indeed, trying desperately
To convince the beautiful creature
Of my love and adoration
But my heart, my heart of words
Knew all too well that she spake truth.
I needn’t press upon thy time any farther,
I told her. And I turned my back.
I turned my back from the light
And simply walked away
Unfeeling, unchanged.

A thousand monarchs sit upon their thrones
Side by side, flashing their wings now and then.
Gusts of wind blow through and shake their bones.
A monarch falls from his throne to his end.

Time flies and the seasons change
A million monarch’s sit upon their thrones.
Wind blows a fierce kiss within their range
Two monarch’s fall with shouts and groans.

The monarchs’ thrones have grown
Their borders reaching far and wide.
The winds of change have now flown
Calling the monarch’s to abide.

Time flies and the seasons change
A billion monarchs have wistfully flown
They, stretching their wings of age,
Now leave bare their once beautiful thrones.

The branches they once sat upon
Now stripped and bare, lay susceptible
To the wind’s every whim, rarely fond.
The branches hang alone as a crucible.

Time flies and the seasons change.
The monarchs have left their thrones
Have left the constant for a change.
To the ground to wait, they have flown.

She gazes out the window
A distant look in her eyes.
In her green eyes I see a longing
To be alone, to be away, far away.
And in that moment I see
For the first time, I can see
In her weary eyes the show of time.
I see in the lines of her face
A story of loss, of longing, of love.
Her sad eyes shift slowly to me.
To me and you she looks upon
Love painted across her face.
Tis then she knows without a doubt
Her sacrifice was not for naught.