if you saw the white spires blackened with ash
the chiseled walls crumbling like bread
would you run with the horses who turned back
from the flames, licking the stone like dogs?
do you hide your faces when the tears flow,
wipe burlap across cheeks of scars and sun;
forgetting the time toiled for a life worth living
incensed into believing you cannot win,
you cannot bend -
she said, there's an old man sitting on the throne
waiting for the next challenge
hoping for the next man to walk the steps
an orchestrated hell awaiting him
he did not count on her.
the whispers of a queen, estranged
noise surrounded her name, bemused at her presence
but the word was that she was coming
wanting to accept the challenge -
the throne that carried the old man chuckled
buckling under the weight of his patriarchy
ready for a new light
praying for a new way;
the masses were silent
the bated breath of revolt resting on the laurels of a woman
and the old man advised she was mean
and the old man advised she was not fit to speak
and the woman requested a duel.
the name of the knights that watched that day
were erased by themselves,
shamed that they had been blind
embarrassed that they had let a fool lead them astray
for the walls were black, tarnished with the hearts
of the many and the tears of the few
who had waited for a change
who had been left behind in the rush of madman
the sword that pierces the skin
is the one that speaks the volumes a tongue cannot
and if both are cut at the same time
the root of a thousand words springs forth
for the people to sing with
for had he not told her
to know her place,
perhaps she would have not sought him
perhaps she would not have gone straight to the castle
be made a queen.
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