PhoebeJaneWrites

Brilliant colors dance about the flames,
as warriors stomp and chant the holy names.
An ousted queen in silent reveries
sits sadly as she no longer believes
magic enough can gather from the trees.

She ruled her land in grace and dignity,
her kindness known throughout the lands and sea.
But frightening whispered tales began to sprout,
of magic stones and sorcery devout
and so they made a plan to drive her out.

Inside the palace, a winter forest found.
Those marveled at the scene were shouted down.
“Take courage men, this witch- she must be found!”
With sharpened swords, they walked through every room.
The “wicked” queen barely escapes her doom.

Now here she sits, a silent refugee.
The only remnant of the monarchy.
Then winds kick up, the mighty voices heard.
The sky grows dark and echoes back the words,
spread through the woods within the songs of birds.

This deposed queen will soon reclaim her throne
as ancient magic follows to her home.
No weapon will defeat the tribesmen’s shield.
No army can combat the power she wields.
Her battered faith has finally been healed.

Phoebe Jane