Time

 

The tracks stretched out in front of her, as far as she could see.

It would be a long journey, but at last, she was free.

An empty bottle of perfume was all she took, broken and frayed,

To remind her of shifting beauties, that would soon fade.

Pressed flower leaves, at the bottom lay forgotten,

Reminders of roses and thorns she had gotten.

She wandered through streets unfamiliar amid,

She spoke a dead language no one else did.

She hid daggers beneath ragged gowns,

From jean wearing folks garnered frowns.

Her auburn curls went out of fashion years ago,

As did her formal bows and mannerisms so.

She had a crown, but it’s meaning was lost,

So were the lives and tears it had cost.

She had a kingdom, but she’d spent too long,

In hiding, singing to rats a strange song.

Now a different king ruled the land of hers,

And her stately features got only annoyed mutters.

For she had lost not only the throne, but their memories,

A result of being stuck in a cell for centuries.

Time, you see, is a violent criminal,

It’s torture, lasting and optimal.

She had but a broken perfume bottle that proved,

The life that she had once had, now disproved.