A dress of black
Covers the flesh
The weary legs
Propelling a ****** shell
A walking, talking hell

Boots of black
Cover sore soles
Worn from the miles
Within these shoes
Take them now
To then endow
What this soul
Has and how

Veil of black
Covers the face
The tired, dim eyes
Gateways to a fractured soul
Wailing, crying out like a wraith
Mourning the greatest of losses
A grand, widely gaping grief
For the sorrow and woeful
Most soul retching cry
Of a lovers loss

Keeping still the black veil
A crown upon the head
Heavy is the silver helm
Upon a fatigued skull
Full of fear and dread

A queen without her king
Fallen at her own hand
Her pen, her ink, her word
All bid the love goodbye
Their hearts to surely die

As their kingdom crumbles
Stones crash to the ground
Their castle falls into the sea
From whence it came to be
A castle built stone by stone
To fall but once again
As the very earth rumbles
Quaking in the divide
A ruin on either side

The queen, her part of the land
Once so thriving and grand
Only to fall by her own hand
From a land of bountiful prosperity
To but a wasteland of humanity

The queen, she walks among the ruins
Rubble scatters the once sacred ground
To crash heavily at her weary feet
Seeming to admit defeat

Into the old chambers,
The throne room they once shared
Split at the space between the seats
Now ever so lonely she stands
Upon the cliff so steep and grand
The great divide of ancient land

Seated upon her throne of stone
Cracked and deeply worn
Now it seem it were
Surrounded by spine and thorn
Protecting the exhausted queen
Despite all internal protest
She sits to take a rest

Her subjects come to her cries
From her long cold bed
She cries and cries but will not sleep
Remaining awake only to weep
Wrapped in her linen sheet
Longing for a distant warmth
Knowing it shall not return
T'was but a lesson for her to learn

Rise and rule the day
The queen, she knows that she must
She sits upon her throne on high
Her knights to guard her people
Her heralds to aspire the people
Their souls as they lay to rest

The queen she always overthinks
Thinks once, then twice, then thrice again
As any a queen should hope before
Making but a single request

The queen she rules over the dark
Her word is her solemn command
She considers her people with care
Before do anything she dare

The tired queen, she stands to greet
The soldiers of her fleet
To sail their hearts out to sea
No more, in this time they shall not flea
To tie up their ships to the docks
Not again to leave the harbor
Of their greatest labor

As the day goes by and by
She stands and she sighs
Her people they reflect her state
And quite frankly, as of late
They appear more ghostly than
The specters of her mind

As her sorrow grows and spreads
So, too, do the wraith-like folk
Of her long, forgotten land
Broken by her trembling hand
Both land and fragile heart

Seated somberly upon her throne
The queen, her pain is known
Far and wide, beyond the reaches
Of her sullen, gloom filled lands

As the word spreads
To lands far and vast
The tales of her past
They know her by one name
At last she holds her title, bound;
The Queen of the ******

- Jay M
October 12th, 2021

She has freckles like little eyes boring a hole into your soul when she looks at you. She has a face as clear as crystal that when you look at her, you can see your own reflection—mirrorless, empty, and reserved. When you press your lips against hers, a flood of poisonous schemes awaits you, and you'll be lost like Alice in Wonderland.

She's an important chess piece that cannot be easily moved; she's a queen, the ace, the king. A pawn may capture a queen, but she is also the king. Her throne reeks of gold and fortune, her mind flows with wisdom, and her body's attached like the goddess Aphrodite. She's the thunder in the rain. Her cries are a woe of revenge and power. Death can not capture a woman like her. She's Eve and she's Lilith. She's a spirit and she can be a snake—crawling with her reptile skin. Her eyes are as fierce shaped as the diamond's emerald and lastly, she's macabre surrealism that when you read her, her true self shows and pushes you to infinite possible dreams you can dream of. 

Avary is the bird of thunder. In her cage, she's a young soul duplicated to bring misfortune every time it rains in the spring of Casmorville.

The strength your skin holds no one can touch it's a pity they don't know you already won black beauty your skin shines in the sun without trying natural thick hair and hard to break down curves in all the right places beautiful black women you don't need no additive your already the Queen take your crown and shine

When my mind gets lost in the far corner of the dark side of the moon,
the need grows for razors to expose my blood, destroying progress’ fragile balloon,
I glaze myself in the mirror and, as if the mirror magically change
The beast I thought to see, to a fair queen. Who wonders why we grew estranged.