The Lines Of Succession

Late afternoon shadows;
Clouds are hurrying towards
The far horizon.
Dying piano note,
A plaintive ghost.
Ripples of escaping sunlight,
Cavorting thru the open spaces.
The princess who lives here
Wandering thru the maze of chambers
Touching things absently.
A reliquary of once loved
Playthings, lies forgotten.
A wispy spindle of melancholy clings,
Silkens, and follows her movements.
Then starts up the low rushing wind,
At first just a breeze, but
Becoming fiercer by degree
Finding its way to the entrance-
Where nothing else could ever pass before:
She has eaten the pomegranate seed
The enchantment is irreversible;
A child spirited into
Deeper substrates of being.
She has lost the old kingdom
But she will rule in the next.