Over ten years ago a constable served me with a restraining order...
I could not see my children because a Writ and Sworn Statement by their father who indicated I was endangering their lives.
In the entire history of my life, I have never felt the sorrow - nor could I recreate the sound - of being barred from my children. No recourse, no appeal - at the whim of the government who would realize the falsities that they were governing .... not once in my life have I known the torment of falling to my knees with that order.
A stranger decided my path and that of my children...
I faught. *chuckle... don't I ever? Made any other way? Hypocrisy and lies should be fought with every sword... and there I was, alone, with my sword...
The final hearing, his attorney asked me an array of question that made her appear daft... "... Isn't it true you sing 'Ding Dong the Witch is Dead' when discussing my client's wife, Claudia..."
"No - we sing the 'de-det-det-dah-da-da'... you know... the tune when the evil witch is arriving"
I've always wondered how the stenographer captured my response.
The question that shaped the rest of my life and my decor ... was the following...
"Isn't it true? You think you're a queen? The Queen of Sheba."
Likely, on the stand, my mouth turned upward...
"Excuse me," I asked.
"You think you're the Queen of Sheba."
My inside Simone laid out in the sun on her lounge and thought... "yeah, so?"
But I knew where this was coming from...
"I'm sorry - I don't understand what you're referring to..."
But I did... and it had no concept with reality... it was a Simone ... discovering a Simone.
...
"What riches can I tell you of
What stories may I embark,
To walk the path of a layman
With the feet of a monarch.
Though the theories that I advise
Have come to mind of Grace...
I've come to face the theories now
Of the fears that I must face.
The inclination of a man,
though a mighty one I may be -
to feast upon the sweetest taste
of Woman - Sheba - Queen...
I want no mind, no glory
Just my brow upon her breast
To feast where few have traveled
And meet my gentled rest."
There's more to my prose written years ago, this ill-fit proper, was used to to bastardize my being.
She would not meet her equal that day. Or ever.
A child of children - I would succumb to an ill-word that was not of the real.
And rise... Because I am of the Divine... and those of me are of the Divine.
We rise and do not fall. Pheonix of possibility.
Forget the past ... it's never the piece of possible.
Be possible. Be divine. Be royal.
I am.
I am of the Divine.
QoS.
Sheba of the Divine.
Simone of the Divine.
