Confessions of a Fading Queen
With splinted heart, no sighs. No winks,
A woman alone cast down, tears on her brink.
Her eyes closed tightly, breath short. No sorts,
Dragons fly, serpents die, now comes dark hour.
We talk few whispers, no sounds. No glance,
Touching her quickly, never changing stance.
Walk sweetly, fair maiden.
Now it’s my pain . . .
Now it’s my shame . . .
Breathing, filling her eyes, and finding no blame.
© 2020 Kenneth Avery