The Monarch

All alone and far from home, she was polluted in her own blood
Her pain was so deep that her cries made no sound
For they were buried in the pit of despair
As she strugled and squirmed whilst gasping for air
For she had been cocooned in so many lies rumours and tales
From the poisonous tongues of wicked creatures like like beasts with tails

Battered and beaten, she lay in a flowerbed in a green garden slowly decaying but in her heart she was praying
So the Lord sprinted towards her in the cool of the day, “a bloody pool? hell has to pay”
He muttered to himself as more blood sprinkled like a fountain
Or an overactive, violent, erupting volcanic mountain
He  said unto her when she was in her own blood, “Live”
Again he said unto her when she was dying, “Live”
Tears streamed down his face and slowly but surely washed away her doubt as her faith wavered
Unto his gentle and peaceful heart, her own aching heart did yield
Gradually, she began to multiply as the bud of the field
He dropped myrrh on her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head
Then clothed her with badgers’ skin and with pure, white fine linen
In ornaments she was decked  with a chain on her neck
Upon her head he placed a beautiful crystal crown from his heavenly crystal sea
He crowned her as his own pristine queen seated on his right hand side
Above and ruling and reigning over her enemies for all time

You see, they thought that they could tear her apart with a bruised and broken heart
While sifting her like wheat like tares under Pan’s feet
And stomp on her halo but little did they know
That the good God above would heal her with his love  and free her like a dove
And now she flies so high steady like a butterfly


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