Without a Queen
What is a crown
To a King?

"Just another storm outside," she sighed.
The windows quietly rattle
From the distant thunder,
And the panes softly reflect
The obscure taps of raindrops.

The storm is of no importance.
Relaxed, she continues writing
Engrossed in the life
The storm would not shake..
..Nor could it tempt her back..

Her thunder was more marvelous than this storm could ever invoke.

My skin is hard and weathered
As is the asphalt that lays bare
And bleached by the sun's rays.

Your words are the childish chalk
Scribbled across and littering the road
Right in front of our home

And your treason is the hushed rumble
Of chilled autumn rain washing your despairing apologies
Down the gutter at the end of the street

A bird
Without it's wings..

Such a tragedy.

Sometimes..

It's best to say nothing,
Do nothing,
And pay attention.

Some convictions connot
Soley be served through
Mere words alone.

Again, pay attention
To what isn't being said.
Sometimes.. the silence tells you everything.

Such a shame when a bird
Has yet to spread it's wings

Spent it's whole life
Perched on an outreached branch

Every attempt at flight
Means another climb back up the tree.

Eventually the bird will leave it's perch
But not by flight.