From far away
all I’ve ever wanted
was a sliver of her attention,
and I know even asking
was all together too much
for the Queen.
With half shy delicate eyes
it’s always been hard
to speak frankly to her
the last time I voiced and opinion
was three years ago,
she hasn’t talked to me since.
And yet,
she insists
that I keep these words going
perhaps for her amusement
knowing she holds the power
I’m just the servant.
I didn’t ask for this,
torturous life,
words that amuse the others
bringing some sort of joy
to their tepid lives.
After all or
happily ever after
she’s the Queen,
I shouldn’t forget my manners
because buried deep inside
I hold her somewhere else
above the others.
I know how her walls are adorned
all gilded and charmed
all of us know
she has everything anyone could ever want,
so why me?
These lyrical words
written exclusively for her
have been a greater testament
to any other kind of love
any greater love
she’s ever been used to,
still, she’s adorned by many men.
Seriously,
what difference would it make
if a poet with all his words
were to ever make a Queen
wait for her words.
