Her Majesty, The Queen

She sits.
Waits.
Her appearances are few and seemingly misplaced.
But she is our ruler, our love, our hope.
We build up walls, made by men and mortar,
To keep her locked away, safe.
And sadly, it’s hard to remember through stone.
Her Majesty, The Queen.
She is our downfall, in the eyes of a sea of men.
Men get things done, after all.
Efficient.
Calculated.
Practical.
But she is the key, the motivation.
Why do anything, except out of love?
Love of a creature, country or idea?
We forget.
It is in our nature, though.
Which isn’t to say we shouldn’t remind ourselves.
We must remind, ourselves and fellow castle-builders,
That the soul we lock away, so far from danger is our very own soul.
And danger is not the only thing we keep from Her.
Her Majesty, The Queen.
She is our vulnerability.
She will be the death of us,
But only in the sense that she moves all human beings down their own road.
Pushes them through life,
Which is to say, points them toward the end.
But she is our saving grace as well.
She is what makes the trip worth it,
No matter how short or long,
The simple feeling of being alive and living at the same time outweigh any end we could predict.
Her Majesty, The Queen:
Let her free from your safe prison in order to be a liaison between the Queens of other minds.