Jezebel the wicked queen,
Sits in her tower, a sickened scream,
Paralysing the guards below, she's seen,
An imminent death, and she's foreseen,
Her kingdom falling, her king deceased.
Her wicked ways have thus increased.
She's calling to the men below,
To guard and warrantee her throne,
Against a future unbeknownst,
To her previously, she won't,
Make it to see another night,
She won't live to see her kingdom fight,
Inevitability and spite.
Her idolatry has corroded light,
Throughout the land, and every night,
She bows before the throne, comprised,
Of wood and stone, of massive height
Looks down on her with lifeless eyes,
And promises nothing, deliverance denied.
And now she cries, tonight she cries,
Because she knows, her life is short,
And she is white, she's going to die,
And everything she knew before,
Is going away into the night.
The road is hard, her body soft,
And she will fall from window loft,
Into the street her blood is red,
All up the walls, the dogs are fed,
And nothing but her palms remain,
The bones are gone, blood washed away,
And Jezebel the wicked queen,
Has fallen, now her destiny,
Has found her lifeless in the street,
Nothing more and nothing sweet.
YOU ARE READING
Stoneheart
PoetryA collection of poems about my coming of age, family and identity struggles and my battle with anxiety and depression as a youth.
