The Imperial Empress

The imperial empress penned poems on sliding doors
The gulf of grief that refused to swallow her
Now let the stream of life sweep her on
Stealing the glamour from all impending dusks and dawns

On a quest for her spent soul in a crumbling palace of jade
Resisting the urges for picturesque scenarios to fade
Treading in the royal meadows where she could never stumble
For even her grief was required to be elegantly humble

She had crossed countless brooks and trailed hooting hills
Yet everything and everywhere was still alike
Defying her creativity and trampling her wills
Were the same fancy whims and the same winter chills

It was decreed she carried a stamp of strangeness
There were gossips her highness was sedated by changes

But even as these days are already memories; numbered and few
She is still a lingering missing harmony for me and you
A lone angel in a hallway of spite and scars
In an age with no bravery but only spars

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