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The Throne

I stood amidst a thousand place
In a single shifting of a day
My legs ached, my knees throbbed -
In malcontent and bereavement
And my salient stance cringed confounding
To muse on too many places in one glance;

In the hollow vestibule of churches,
The putrid cushion in a bus,
The noisy creaking chair in a class,
The rocking chair swinging for decadence,
The lavish divan in a parlor,
The Victorian craft in a banquet,
The eiderdown in a perforated cloud;

All were impressed by presences
Because to matter, you occupy space
And weigh it down with your grace
Whilst I stood amongst seated legs
Crossed and folded in security
Married to a vacant throne
Assembled by my agog hands,
Lacquered by the hands of time
And weighed by the colossal
Absence of a queen

Because to live you have to give life
So I stand here, waiting hopefully
For someone to take this open hand
Of this vacant throne betrothed to
The myriad reasons to doubt
To have and have not hope

So I stood amidst the blaring crowd
Faster and fastidious than a rose
Taking it slowly, unraveling the eternity
Of waiting and the artistry
Of never effacing the neutral poise.

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