When The Blood Ran Black

Oh My Queen

The people paint me in black.
They dress me in robes of despair
and place a crown of terror on my head.
Pain follows my steps and screams echo in my mind.

But you, oh my darling.
You, they paint in white.
You, they dress in robes of joy
and place a crown of light on your head.
Flowers sprout with your steps and laughs echo in your mind.

But they don't see what I do.
They don't see you
when that darkness will settle in your eyes,
and how those nails of yours will turn to talons.
They don't see those petals of yours fall
into dust for the wind.

They see the spring, the flowers, the breeze.
But I,
I see the winter, the frost, the storms.
I see destruction
and the starkness of white.

All they see
is the bright burst of color at your arrival,
but never the dead wilting in your leaving
and the wicked smile as all your creation crumbles.

You, my love,
can always be seen as light and truth and beauty,
and they will always throw themselves at your feet
in the assumed knowledge that you are mercy incarnate.

And yet they all find out too late,
how wrong they are.
How beautifully, irreparably wrong.

For my Queen,
they see my darkness,
but they fail to see yours.