An Unrest

As she sits on the edge of her large square glass window
something bothers her- perhaps, a dream that is broken.
She sees a beautiful picture erased from future's shadow,
feels a void in her treasure that cruel time will have taken.

It was like the feeling you get when opening an unknown door,
like the way you would feel about a storm just before harvest,
like how you would feel watching a tempest approach the shore
like knowing that the hero falls, even as he set out on his quest

But she sits gracefully on her long settee, legs stretched out.
Well,  she is the royalty, she is the monarch, she is queen Fae.
And all those that knew her agreed on this without a doubt
that the songs of her grace did no justice to her astute way.

As Queen Fae stares through her old-fashioned glass pane,
she felt the unrest, nervously fidgeting, she twirled her hair.
Unable to decipher the signs, like from a swirling weather vane
she sat as she sensed the fracas and that the wind was unfair.

Like a war, a battle, a conflict, an incursion, a raid, a foray,
like it was ripening slowly but surely in an autumn flurry.
Mocked by her premonition - of dissonance, of disarray,
she sat, partly betrayed, partly prepared and partly in worry.

She wondered if she could defend with the power she wields,
Her realm, her people, her vision, her immaculate river Ili,
her sharp green cliffs bordering the prosperous harvest fields
and the pasture where a shepherd dog was eying a white filly.

She looked at her silver arbalest, then she unhooked it with care
and gently ran her fingers on its bends, resentful and alarmed.
She knew the cry of a dying man, a wounded horse, a bloody glare
she heaved at its foresight - men and beasts, all would be harmed 

Well, what choice did she have really, she needed it to defend
and she knew what the rolling time would bring with it soon
well, there would be destructions and shattered dreams to mend
and cinder ash would stretch far between river Ili and the moon