The Empress watched wearily as the last of the days’ homage was spent
The sun set in front of her throne glorious in it’s magnificence
Making her skin radiate with the gold paint
In which they adorned her.
She ached from head to toe tired of being pushed to and fro
by the priests and men, who would tell her when
To raise her hand for a fateful kiss, incase she missed
A murderer or a wounded soul. Tonight she just felt old.
Waving all the servants away, she stepped out into the light of day
Stretching her arms to the sky, aimlessly wondering why, oh why
Was she stuck in such a marvellous nighmare, almost too much for her to bare.
For she had the world on a golden platter, it didn’t matter.
Looking down from her gilded veranda, she heard a beautiful stanza
Being read out loud in the court beneath her, in her heart it caused a flutter.
And as her golden paint did glitter, her heart lost its cold and bitter
As she leaned over to the voice of silk, before her bath in asses milk.
As she peered down then he gazed up, and drank in her eyes
Agog, they stared, and silent words passed between them
The start of a tale, that would condemn.
This is the first part of a series of poems I have been working on recently called the Ruana series. I hope to continue on here to post the poets tale sometime during the weekend. I hope that you enjoy!