The Descendant

The White Queen: A Poetry Collection

The Storyteller

I’m a simple man from a simple land,

A kingdom of love, prosperity hand in hand.

Our story goes back to a Storyteller’s tales,

Of a White Queen’s happy fables.

 

But every night I lie and I think to myself,

Are the words that they teach just a myth that prevails?

Is there truth in these words passed from father to son?

Or are they just crafted lies to keep our people as one?

 

Who can testify to these black and white lies?

Who can claim they’ve seen the past with their own two eyes?

Whose history contains nightmares of illustrious lust

From a Black Queen without subjects in her trust?

 

Who’s to say my ancestor hadn’t gone mad

And made up tales once he’d been had?

Just fantasies he made to hide his pain

After being struck down from his “friend who reigned?”

 

Has nobody wisdom to question the world?

Do we just believe all spoken words?

Am I to expect a Black Queen to rise

According to a man whose head wasn’t right?

 

I vow to desert and denounce these lies!

I’ll believe it when I see it with my own two eyes!

Exile me, arrest me, do as you’d like!

But I’ll never accept the words of the supposed wise!