P.A.D. #3: A Queen's Abdication

I have become impatient

with being your lady-in-waiting.

This love is no royal court.

I find your throne unoccupied,

and I tire from your wars.

Waiting for blackened roses to be cast

at my feet.

You dangle vines of possibility in their place.

When I have accepted the death knell.


King amongst men,

but absentee husbandman.

How is a Queen to survive

40 days and nights on promises broken?

Let us die in this wilderness,

so that I am free to return to loneliness.

That blessed empty solitude

I am accustomed to.

At least it does not deceive

with visions of happiness often abandoned.


I fear you will not take notice of my leave.

The crown of thorns by the bed side.

The scent of tears and my imprint

on sheets that is foreign to our infrequent lovemaking.

Farewell to these arms.

An embrace half endured.

May the streets be lined with feathers

for your footfalls always away from me.


I have nothing to offer

but stained glass memories.

These will never be dusted by broken into pieces.

Placed in a black box and remanded to a pauper's grave.

You will not visit, and I will bless you for this.

Not to taint the one resting place

where we finally are at peace.