Colin Mitchell Williams | + Follow Poet |
Free verse | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

The Queen of Babylon

When I came upon the ancient temple
it was in a howling storm of a sand
arid dust blinding me to everything I am
 
I had staggered across the thirsting deserts
while dreaming of the water
I held within my hand
 
And as the darkness sank engulfing
every sandcastle built of promise
I stumbled upon a doorway
which lead me into the Temple of The Abyss
 
Brought before the golden halls
dragged before a golden throne
where sat the undaunted Queen of Babylon
Babylon the Great
 
And while forced to kneel before her
and give my thanks to sanctimonious alter
I dared to raise my eyes and look upon her face
 
What do you seek here my weary traveler
from the wastelands to this place
if you bow before my ankle
you must have the courage to accept my grace
 
So ask the Queen of Babylon
the question on your lips
and should those words be so contrite
they must be uttered to my throne
and to my everlasting worship
 
And so I asked the Queen of Babylon
if love had been so abandoned
did love no longer know what it was

And as she raised her eyes so strikingly
so desperate a gaze from a frozen soul
as with these words she answered
stabbed her icicle deep into my heart
 
Love is nothing but the trading of possession
love is nothing but the exchange of emotional weapons
a room full of broken windows
the shattered glass on which you walk
the eggshells of your complicity
nothing but a broken dream
beneath the feet of fantasy
which you sell to purchase love
and as you drown in its own delusion
all love is an illusion
the same fantasy of your freedom
as you peer through the broken windows of your prison
calling a shadow the epitome of liberty 

Cold as ice the scorn within her eyes
arid dust of the sands storm
the empty hollow of the centuries
which proclaimed  and defamed 
the blood of Babylons royal seat
 
And upon the throne of Eden
she deemed to be alone
while denouncing and describing a paradise
she believed she had come to own
 
And love was just a bargaining chip
an unoccupied compassion for the price of love
love was a fallen harlot 
as she sat upon its golden throne 
 
And so to spite me for my question
the great and terrible Queen of Babylon 
had me slaughtered in a pit
has me hung upon her alter
forever servant to abject worship
and I pray in the golden halls 
while the screaming sandstorm rages on
blinding me to everything I am 

I staggered across a thirsting desert
in a howling storm of a sand
dreaming of the water
I held within my hand

Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2017

Please Login to post a comment