~
Cold cold heart
Frozen plumage
Like a peacock
Her ladyship
In the campfire light
Skating about the pond
Of her own vanity
~

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.

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.

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.

Consistency is a king who refuses to grow up.

    Dig in.
Chew a little  
   That’s it

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...