Don’t tell a hummingbird to stop dancing

For it cannot help to blend among the notes and rhythms of this world

Untouched by fear, by scorn, by malice

A simple life unspoken

 

I have to perceive that I will fall into the bear trap

succumbing to the quicksand should I choose to wander

Pulled into the darkness by the hand of satan

No! Not I.

 

I should rather go wings and soar

fly above those who would repress me, hold me down

into the flaming pit of liquid

would I fall into the inferno that awaits me

nay. not I.

 

I would fly.

 

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A Mother’s Dreams

My son will rule

My son will be king

I will not have it any other way! – Lo.

 

You will bow to me.

You will bow to him.

Together, we will rule a vast land.

 

For far too long has Henry had to ride on the backs of ghosts

A title long torn away, stripped, tarnished

As the no-thing child fades into the darkness

Obscured by anonymity

 

Now is his time to rise up beyond the ashes

and tear asunder this fallen land

taking all that he might, crushing those who would usurp.

Henry VII, King of England.

And I, Margaret Beauford, am his mother.

 

 

 

Whispers of a Queen in Westminster

The silver horse has cast its weary light

Its coat, forever tangled

By the lies that it weaves

By the dreams it deceives

 

Where, praytell, does my beating heart go to fly

when instead it finds itself rejected, dejected

but never truly resurrected

Diamonds are stones

And gold is dust

Only love prevails

–Queen Elizabeth Woodville