The Queen
Confined in that big space,
Silence to her is noise.
She listens to her favourite piece –
Nocturne op. 9-2, at the break of dawn.
Sipping her cup of freshly brewed earl grey,
She watched, waiting for her bed of white roses
To turn red.
Rain fell, they fell as tears.
The windows to her soul are safely locked.
The keys, lost in the cellar filled with aged old wine.
She waltz barefooted on the cold marble floor,
Her brown ringlets danced to the momentum of the breeze.
With eyes closed, she picture the hills, filled with
Wild dandelions, wild butterflies.
The thunder killed her imagination and
What was left was a reflection of a little lady
Yearning to be free.
Mui Rui Yi
4J
posted by Debra @ 10:17 PM
3 Comments:
Wah... so poignant can...This is a better poem than your previous one, which was almost the same as this. :D Good job!!
Great poem! A view of how lonely a queen can be although she may have all the things that she wants but not the love she yearns to have.
A lovely poem!So lonely yet so beautiful.
Post a Comment
<< Home