My Queen

In my dreams I am often approached

by my Queen.

Wading through golden fields she appears

gentle yet driven

She moves as if to mock the idea of perfection,

her focus her own, her eyes rare.

Each step flows up through graceful legs,

and poised back;

She’s always leading me somewhere.

She has battled for her life, tooth and claw,

but I only see her past in argent flares.

Still sometimes I notice her

rear her vicious head to gnash at enemies

They know fear when they see her.

It’s a dream, and though her soft tread

leaves prints the size of bear claws,

and the golden aura of her blazing silhouette

conjures the image of great deities,

She is just as beautiful

when I wake to a yawn

and see her in the breaking dawn.

--For Arty--