Convention's Conundrum
Ballad of a Queen
The bars were such a brilliant gold, that they actually gleamed
Beautifully ornate. Supposedly built to keep her safe.
But as the adage goes, nothing was as it seemed
She always spoke the kindest words. She didn't smile, but beamed.
Her beauty did not wane. She was certainly no waif.
No signs of abuse or neglect. No proof she'd been demeaned.
Her wisdom was unmatched. Many lessons had been gleaned.
The shackles of her institutions were not intended to chafe.
There she gracefully remained, while those around her schemed.
The relationships, the connections. Others have merely dreamed.
She'd be ungrateful, rude, and thankless not to behave.
She suffered indignities called privilege. Inside she often screamed.
A spectacle for those who credited themselves. How they preened
Taking accolades for discovering gifts she bore. A masquerade.
Who propped her up as she elevated them? Fair, it was never deemed.
There were no scandalous whispers. No messes to be cleaned.
One day those gilded bars became an empty cave.
Never again was she seen. People sought her out like fiends.
A queen who quit her prison of convention? Not a soul believed.
About the Creator
Syncere
Syncere (noun) An author/poet & barely tolerable human being. Masterful trickster of family & friends, as they actually support her. In another life, could've been a failed comedienne. In the grand scheme of the multiverse, she already is.
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