Broken Vase

Walking in the shadows staying out of the moonlight,

wolves howling in the distance, her face wearing a look of fright.
Steps out in the dark treading silently as she can, collec ng food,
In an unknown world she thrives now, gathering the firewood.

She once was the epitome of glistening grace,

princes warring to death for her embrace.
Her courtroom full of jesters, there was revelry and glace,
Si ng weary on her throne now, staring down that broken vase.

The princes all disappeared, the jesters fled in fear,

Happiness she sought in gold, vanity she held so very dear,
And the courtroom that was once a symbol of might and victory,
It lay now in shambles, hidden within, stories of her misery.

Her silken robe torn by the thorns in the forest,

Bruises on her body told a story rather modest,
In the eyes of others where she sought her name,
Short lived was the queen who went by such fame.

For castles will crumble and so shall your pride,

Let your deeds be the one whom your name decide.
Of sorrow or joy we can build this place,
Si ng weary on her throne now, staring down that broken vase.

-Rachit