by joetwo

In urgent majesty, the queen surveys her vast terrain

Eyes and face move rapidly over the sun drenched fields

Looking for her minions, her slaves, to do her bidding

Those that she finds are stared at with a fierce intensity

Eyes burrow through their skin, uncovering all weakness

Leaving a shell, a vessel to perform her will

The search for labour is never-ending

For she is always in possession of new desires, new wants that need filling

The mistress of her realm

She can control all that her eyes and limbs can see and touch

Yet is herself ruled by the torment of her inner drives

A hopeless slave to the rhythm of her heart.