Death of a Queen

By Elvira

Wind.                           The Funeral.                Linen:
Look not at the
Setting SUN –
Once, you loved me —
bowed to every whim.
Now, Old,
Broken,
I no longer see your caul —
For the new Sun
draws your eyes —
You are blind.
Flattery is for the living,
Insult for the dead, O, Caesar!

Now wrap me in my sheet.
The tales and
sarcophagus
Prettily show.
only prayer:
Black Hearts
and Black Dead.
all Buried.
The truth never exists
ALL
IS
LIES

April 2015