La Reine Brisee

The Broken Queen,
the one that reigns supreme.
Sits upon her broken throne,
with thousands of broken clones.

With her shattered scepter,
and broken jester,
with an eroded crown,
and a moth eaten gown.

With her courts of carbon copies,
and her fields of carbon armies,
with a religion of broken traditions
and its long gone ambitions.

She looks for a peace of her kingdom,
a piece that has eluded her wisdom.
She looks in her land full of pieces,
while the urgency of her need increases.

She was made a broken Queen,
born in order to reign supreme.
She was born to sit on this throne,
the one thousands would call home.

She was forced to be this way,
to sit and let her body decay.
She is a broken piece of royalty,
who never needs to ask for loyalty.

She is missing a simple item,
a small fist sized totem.
It would sit in her chest just there,
where that hole sits empty and bare.

She has been missing a simple item,
a small pulsing red totem.
It would complete her broken body,
and cure this melancholy.

For a kingdom with a broken Queen,
is a terribly broken kingdom, indeed.

It has been searched for far and wide,
looking as to where it might hide.
Underneath the Queen's chair rests,
thousands of the wrong pieces where rats nest.

Pieces of doors, computer and lamps,
remote controls and the stickie side of stamps.
Caps of vodka bottles and casings of bullets,
alphabet pieces and broken gadgets.

Where chunks of shoes and piles of food,
sit underneath the Queen in a foul mood.
But alas, the Queen rests on her throne,
of broken pieces and decaying bone.

Where rats do nest,
no longer considered to be pests.
Inside of broken chunks of flowers and trees,
torn apart corpses of monkeys and bees.

Shattered hopes and tortured dreams,
of lives and people that will never be.
All because the red item of the Queen,
is not where it should rightfully be.