Once upon a time, there lived a Queen
_ not King
Whence did she come, How ?
Became his forever, un-til now.
Here again, but, time taught what it was –
that which is, all turn to dust.
Still, life they say is a journey.
One we must travel alone, not two, can we?
This tragedy, although we seldom remember, we cannot forget.
“Our life is a gift.” Not curse? Yet, we cannot forsake.
Hence, as it was before, and always_is
His quenched face, but un-tamed fist.
When the clock hits past 9,
When she sings, but lines don’t rhyme,
When King doth Queen, without her will and bend.
When King doth Queen, her eyes closed, saw end.
All done that night, few knew, and lived.
How he came forth, claimed death, not gift.
But, a little bird, by the window, saw-it-all
How, when come all nights, she whispered, she grieved.
How, when come one night, a king rose to a queen’s fall.
The day next
was how every day was.
Now without rage.
Now without rain,
No victim and no cage.
But as it was to many, a fine night,
the little bird realized, a presence did not feel right.
Village men say they heard cries, sorrow, the pain.
Why would they not?
For the little bird’s heart changed forever.
She would live never to see her mother again.
About the Writer: https://www.facebook.com/yonten.1997