Dear... Finnish Queen
around her neck
she wears a silver chain
the adornments of a love gone lost
hang,
their promises gone,
like a candle in the rain
a band of gold
drifts
upon the chain
like a ship
lost from its moorings
in peril,
in pain
Thou widows walk, in the widows way
their lovers are dead!
not gone astray,
Her lovers living souls,
cast from her grace
their tongues cut from their mouths
so silenced by her rage
that non shall speak her name
once she has taken her due
for her storm is perpetual,
the core of her being,
...tumult
over other loves lost?
no
but rather,
that she has not found,
in all her lust and wickedness
the match for herself
in this world