Frostwritten

from atop your lofty throne,

we all must look so small,

but you are seated there alone,

while we wait for you to fall,

your cruel tongue strikes a cutting blow,

as sharp as any blade,

I often wonder if you know,

what it means to be afraid?

there is honey in your voice,

but thorns around your heart,

you pretend that you gave us a choice,

when we had none from the start.

the rumors of your reign have spread,

and saturate the land,

your name conjures heavy dread,

which fair few can withstand.

you wear the glittering, gilded crown,

as though it’s made of steel,

one false step shall cast you down,

your worst nightmares made real,

the control you sought so hard to keep,

crumbles in your iron fist,

the wolf who thought she ruled the sheep,

shall vanish like the mist.

I thought I saw the faintest glimmers,

of warmth buried deep below,

but beneath your ice, rage simmers,

and burns like bitter snow.

you were a cold and thoughtless queen,

lost in her own delusion,

but beneath that polished, golden sheen,

lies only an illusion.