Poverty

She sits, royally dressed, on a royal seat,
Gently watching the hearth,
Sipping off silver as the airs beat,
The dilapidated drum in the loneliness
Of royality and darkness of candled earth.
The lulled loudness sings to the empress
Since a thousand bodies stand to guard
But not a single soul to sit.

Finished with the sips,

She walks to the courtyard, stands
By an enormous pillars, stares,
At dozens of her ancestors, who held scepters,
Adjacent to their brooky grey beards.
As the lovedless lady walks ahead
Of her surfs, the only noise accompanying the dead,
Is of her golden anklets that seem to grieve,
For they have never been touched with passion or belief.

From one loneliness, the lady enters another darkness,
The royal room. The four surfs light candles but fail

To light up the room. They bow and go....
Even those lifeless shadows leave the throned,
As her hair adjacent to gentle gesture like a cloud of autumn
Her long eyes, stare at the delighted sky.
She thinks of the days gone and those if to come,

Wasn't it a fair felony to be born free in dust
Than in bars of gold with hindered hearts.
She had stayed away from those she had ruled.
As her heart stops, so does her lungs,
She regrets being so quiet,
Her throat sinks in silence and
So cruel of the air to pass by
Without uttering any sympathy as if it belonged to those commons.
Now tired, she bows, laying her hands, blood dried
Onto the dark altars to pray by
Her felonies,, to be forgiven, to be unliving
And then gently closes the strained eyes to
View the glorious darkness of the end
Until her head is down,Banged in the valuable coffin. Now, maybe,
Will she realise that she should have been
A bit more patient with the people she w as born to and for
A bit more caring and should have lived more carely
For she has endless silence and never ending time
For whatever she has not and cannot.
But nothing has been levelled. Really!