A Queen's Lot
There's parting of a frantic sea, to catch a glimpse, on bended knee
They nonchalantly steal a piece of privacy, consuming more,
assuming poise, among the noise
whenever posed upon her door
How must it be, to be the queen?
To sit so high upon a throne?
With no remorse of deed or thought
to slice her thin, and spill her name, upon the royal carpet fame
The horses trot, the carriage rides, the palace square, the heir abides
How is it there upon the throne, is it lonely at the top?
Beneath the crown upon her head, they watch her wave behind the smile.
The flashbulbs light the milky way
while voices scream among the fray. Does the shouting ever stop?
Does the room feel cold from on the throne? Is it lonely at the top?
She's guided by an elbow's charm, disarmed, by tabloids, all alone.
There is mystery behind the door, the secrets of her universe
Is there more to bear than we can see, adored by all, but all alone
Is it lonely on the throne?
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5/29/15
For Contest Sponsored by Judy Konos
"Long Live The Queen"
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