The Luminous Crown of the Queen

A peel of laughter
rots, resigned
in pursuit of minute approvals
from courtly dwellers
before the senses slip away,
a heart beats lightly
amid hollow omens and fancied melodramas...

She escapes with her eyes
while she is still able,
memories pulled
through a restless soul,
confirmation found
in blood-stained objects;

She was conjured
to create envy in the square
and awe on the battlefield-
the psychological tactic employed
being that to attack an army
graced with smooth, sun-gleamed metals
would be an attack on a culture and race
that was quintessential
to the survival of all humanity…

She would charge into the din of battle
like a savage nevertheless,
her enemies trampled into submission,
her victory scars followed by the joyless decline
of a prideful gaze
that meant nothing in the end;

Slumbers careen in a daze
of a clouded heart
hesitant, yearns
to yield the empty grays
to midsummer imagery
rich in sensation,
to capture them in a charmed pendant
to be worn on far odysseys;

A trickle of translucent surreal theatrics
through the sieves of reason,
an untamed oracle
with mystical instincts,
her prismatic powers of psyche
cast upon the primitives
with remorseless splendor
radiated in an illusion of stately paradise,
her veins overgrown
a maudlin misery,
manipulative prophesies
woven to obscure the threads
of her empty existence;

She fled the base shouts
of her torchbearer mobs,
whose spectrums were swept
into hellish, scattered resonances
intended as rhapsodies of revelation and justice,
as if their chaotic purpose
were to be carried aloft on wispy spirits
breaking like white-capped waves
as they pursued their Frankensteins
to the pinnacles of fire-scathed windmills…



She was created in the purest of forms
of rebirth and seduction,
the sustained and trill-edged shrieks
of the sorcerer who transformed her
stirred in a balm
and sold as vintage…

She allowed her winks
to shimmy with suggestion
through squints of bell-tolled steeples
guilt-drenched in the rain,
a glint in the wizard’s wool
and they are transformed into sorrow with the site of her-
now a dim dance
once carved from frosty, elegant circles
twisted through enchanted bells
in dreams
delivered to fervent faces
hypnotized in the frenzied fanfare
while her dirge slipped through chiffon veils
tinted with defiant charm
and chiseled with fatal excess;

Emerged from holiness,
delivered with grace,
the luminous crown of the Queen
shone glorious and gold
as she crawled into a cornerspace and wept…

this awakened her brass band,
ever boisterous,
their existence a cadence
that fell over the choir
which delivered in choral refrain
the proclamation of a new astral adventure…

She brushed away her tears, tore off the crown,
and leaped
into the celestial cool.