Queen Anne and Her Lace

IMG_0265Grappling arms in the harkened underbrush

threaten tyranny of a patrolled tightness

sometime in the Now.

I hear Her battle cry beckon from the borderlands,

while sobbing fulfills the overthrown.

My helpless scent lies dormant,

a foot soldier am I,

softly licking blades of green-yellowing grass.

I wait for Her.

As the underground revolutions resurface within me 

all for all, with and to,

Her fidelity draws my blue-blade tight against her thigh and cause.

A dried-red bridal veil 

cranes behind her side-saddled dominance,

plunging hooves crest a ridge in my Soul.

I know Her,

I’ve seen the Queen before.

She stands with sword drawn while I bow.

She will have my head

and wear it tied to Her saddle.

This entry was published on July 24, 2012 at 12:04 am and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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