I have visions of her sitting on a throne,
and her eyes are old, so old.
She simpers, but her eyes are cruel as stone,
and her smile is cold, so cold.
Bound, gagged, unable to speak,
the court looks down in judgment.
"I just want to exist," I want to say, but I'm too weak,
and the Crown culls its claimant.
She is void, she is nameless,
a name even the Devil couldn't find.
Her name has faded, but she is ageless,
of sublime form, and of greater mind.
The universe was once ordered and beautiful,
as was her throne.
She sits, ever watchful,
as the world crumbles to ruin.