Queen of Nothing

I continue to play with the enticing anagrams that brilliant writer Max Meunier made of my name.

i sat in cherry

upon the hand carved

throne of  ivory bone

in the empty room

of chiseled stone

with its vaulted ceilings

that echo with the silence

black and white diamond tiles

patterning  the floor

no woven tapestries

of virgins fair or unicorns

to soften the harsh space

the cold is bitter chill

seeps into my bones

my breath a frozen mist

frost licking at the

leaded windows

in this frozen dream

no servants to wait upon my word

no court in my thrall

a queen of nothing

of no one

not even myself

to command

I long to return to a

richer sanity


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