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HTR Stevens Apr 29
Standing tall among men was he,
Very humbly he called himself a 'refugee'.
He was the Queen's Consort, oft full of wit;
Yet in humour, he pretended to be a twit.
Some thought he stood among the gods,
Busy with so much he had no time for the Land of Nod.
In life steps behind the Queen he would always be;
At death carried high before the Queen and for all to see.
All the many good works he had done,
The world only knew at the set of his sun.
Nisha Apr 26
Since you've been gone
Our sweetest melody plays on
In the midst of our visited places
Your warmth fills the empty spaces
As I walk on without you beside me
Your memories take over me, set me free
Of the ache of your missing and i
I soar to the skies,
Dawn to dusk, untill sunrise,
On comforting clouds and me reminiscing...

The way you held my hand with care
Our courtship, marriage, love in the air
I feel you through the whispering wind
And walk the footsteps you've left behind
Within the void in this lonely castle
The strength that helps my mind to battle
The strength that pats my loneliness asleep
Our people, the 73 glorious years together,
And you my love Philip...

Though I may shed sad tears, and grieve
We must move on, a positive belief
I'll lift my head and walk many miles
As your Queen, your loving wife.
Until we meet again.
Me and mine had our fill of HIS ****** royal Lip,
And racist, sexist philandering entitlement.
"We don't come to Canada for our health. We can think of other ways of enjoying ourselves."
"I don't think a ******* is more moral than a wife, but they are doing the same thing."
"When a man opens a door for his wife, it's either a new car or a new wife."
Juliana Mar 15
I am a princess. Climbing the metal castle
surrounded by the forest of julienned trees.
A pink tutu complete with a fortune of tulle
flows at my waist, replacing the cotton of
normalcy given that morning by the queen,
my army turning into peasants on the ground
below me. Fellow children who wish not to
play with royalty, fellow children who do,
but alas, this princess works alone.

Sliding down into the moat, swimming across
the wooden hot sea, I enter my limo, the red
skeleton of a car, pushing soldiers out of my
way. They obey their highness, they always do,
or their actions are blocked from memory, a
storm of denial sugarcoating my beloved fantasy.

The limo, transformed during the voyage into
a shimmering carriage, stops at a stable, four
trusty steeds at disposal for any who come
across them. One’s fur the grey of used snow,
stomped upon by the hooves of peasants lasting
generations. Another the brown of rich milk
chocolate, named by those consumed with
hunger, to be used by the full returning from
high tea. A third the shimmering blonde as
the prince’s hair, the appalling matte of gold,
the foil of the one before. The last, dark as
night, a hidden soul trapped behind the plastic
eyes, watching as wars pass, powers change,
alliances grow and crumble into ruins.

The steed stops upon the princess’s destination,
the lone place in the kingdom where she can find
peace, where the chattering of peasants can no
longer disturb her daydreams, where she and her
court can enact royal business, where the swing
of her gavel rings loud and clear, where she can
study in peace, where she can play, where her
throne lies, two abandoned sisters sitting near.

It is here that the princess finds her solace; it is
here that the princess erases from her memory.
Francis Jan 14
A king will be a king,
His queen must be a shill.
Dare she were to disobey,
Stick her head in a guillotine.
The modern world seems so classical,
An era of error on repeat,
As if a broken record,
So to speak.

Her hair a factory of honey,
Glistening eyes of a little girl,
A figure of motherhood in need of a mother.
Why, she was just a baby,
Right from wrong?
She could not tell,
He wanted her,
He got her,
And they all danced to his tune.

She worshipped her king,
Loving him tenderly as —
The king worshipped himself,
Taking care of business.
An entire world heard him speak,
Yet never saw her.

Enslaved in a kingdom of grace,
While she was up,
He was down.
His majesty ruled rocking,
Molded his maiden,
And left her but to wonder,
Simply of his whereabouts.
The throne,
Lonely without her king.

A flawless woman feared flawed,
Merely a mirror of his honor.
A man of many mistresses,
Ravaged for *******.
Who was she?
She could not say,
A lover or a friend?
A mother or a gem?
In time past due,
She could not stay.

The goddess vacated his palace,
Long left to showcase his gold,
But even those walls reek of plastic,
Hindered by a painting left unseen.
They did not know him,
Neither did he,
Only did she,
And she is forced to eat,
At the dime of his memory.
No disrespect to the king by any means, but the queen is hardly even acknowledged.
Niel Nov 2020
Consistency is a king who refuses to grow up.

    Dig in.
Chew a little  
   That’s it
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2020
They fought with swords and shields in sorted fields

of acrimony, declared life and limb to a barren kingdom,

bowed to the royal crown and wooed its fairest daughter.

They won her heart, graced her walls, and worked within them to produce an offspring

—a love child forged with the will of iron and a random, but possessive eye chart.

It nearly took the death of an empire to bring this passion to birth,

and here it so rests upon her breast, pleading an allegiance to her tattered flag.

Why even a thousand years of war demurred to her letting down her hair.

But whose army crossed that wanton bridge and stroked her into carnal submission?

Who kept watch at the crossroads?

History tells us c'est la vie was the culprit, and détente the better angel.

Sometimes it's useless to be useful...
Tiana Oct 2020
Oh Desert Prince!

Your existance is like the wandering golden sand of your fascinating desert;

Light enought to flow through every chambers of my heart,

Gorgeous enough to be the life of the caravan's artistic mirage;

Your love embrace me with sheer darkness and chills of starry nights,

But warm enough to captivate me to stay within your sight;

You are the desert Prince,
You flow like poetry,
Amaze like magic
Priceless unlike jewelries,
And your love seems like a beautiful tragic,
Awakening my deepest desires that I didn't know even exist;

Loving you is like enjoying a never ending magic carpet ride,

That keeps me on edge whenever passed by a strong tide;

Oh desert prince!
You keep me mesmerized how Scheherazade did to Shahryar with every story she brew,

Not Arabian nights though but there's always an unfulfilled thrill in every word you sew;

Oh wondrous prince!

Now when you have played the most melodious echo with my heartstrings
that'd shy away the Qanun,

I'll never let go of you,

Though I don't know if I'll ever have your heart as a miraculous boon;
Beckie Davies Oct 2020
i designed this crown
so i could wear it proud
i walk these streets like royalty
don't you know i'm queen ?
bow down to your royal highness
Strying Oct 2020
Staring down at my hands,
Quivering at my own sight.
Though it was never really there.
I feel like being royalty isn't always as amazing as it may seem.
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