Beyond Regret

Sitting quietly in a corner
To myself...
Here she comes, shuffling forward
With the sinister, styling stride
That has become synonymous with her name.

She passes by and
With the wind that seems to
Follow her powerful presence,
A slight uneasiness arises within
Me, wavering and wondering.

Immediately a crowd of
Previously static girls
Transform, as if by
Magic's mystery,
Into loyal lowly lackeys
To commend her beauty,
To praise her intelligence,
To make her stand out
In a crowd not really
So different from her.

It's comical the scene,
As she takes her seat,
Head cocked upwards like a
Golden bust of the Queen
She has those foolish girls
Believing she is.
She could care less about their remarks,
For she sits atop the world
Content and conspicuous, untouched.

And yet, as I look on,
From my candid corner,
Presence unknown to her and her fawning flock,
I see not a gracious queen
Subject to boundless praise,
But rather the loneliest being
This world has yet to witness,
Begging for just a moment,
A hesitant, fractional second of
Uncomfortable humility,
Known so well by those below
Her.