The Demission


The window of plate glass across much of the house
Let the light flood within, (the idea of the spouse
Who spent hours in the room), when a sunset aglow,
Painted hues on canvas tarrying for a show!

Comfortable old house, rambling for today's lot,
Perfect for this grand-dame who had chosen the spot
For its privacy, and the echoes of beauty
From untended gardens, whose rebirth became duty.

Deposed royalty, she was well-known to many,
Princess, incognito to neighbors, uncanny
In her skill to be social, to charm, and to keep
At arms length the whole lot, while from them not a peep.

Permitting her retinue to call her, Princess,
If in the privacy of the house, to the press
From "up East", she was thought heir to an old estate,
Depending the depiction of her tall tale's fate.

Bulgar, Bavarian, Slovenian or Czech,
Lineage to them all, old kingdoms we respect
For reasons long obscure, continued to endure,
Subjects demanding their duration, time insure.

Royalty, if born so, otherwise, imposter!
Yet many will seek it for power will foster
The notion, anyone if the place and right time,
Can grasp it tour de force, usurpation, no crime.

The disenthroned are problems in disposition,
Painful thorns in the flesh for future sedition,
Precedents may follow, thus escape or exile,
Two generous choices for retaining one's style.

In no way aspiring, a return to the throne,
Devoid of the instincts predecessors had known,
Wishing that privacy, her lifetime continue,
She'd hidden from others, who'd pushed their own venue.

Fame seekers, will find her, whose notoriety,
Infamous, specially, in high-class society.
Avoidance, difficult, she will seek out her own
And sooner or later, their presence becomes known.

Sad that a simple one, content to be alone,
Fate should so encumber, her trappings always prone
To have lives of their own, parasites that demand
The life's blood of those called, to rule their fellow man.

So she waits, knowing fate's proclivity to act
Perversely! Destroying marauders, having sacked
The palace, turned to wreak their vengeance, uncontrolled,
Without rhyme or reason, history has foretold.

Undeterred, head held high, without an anxious word
The future she beholds. Resolved to be absurd,
Should demands to resume ancient roles from the past
Seek her out, she'd say no, the decision iron cast!


--Carduelis Tristis

 

 

copyright 1998, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved

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