Alexander McQueen design

When the fair glass

Of a glorious summer day

Interned the earthly remains

Of my immortal beloved

In the golden-laced locket

My treasurer commissioned

From the skilled jeweler

Who encrusted the precious visage

In ringlets of cold diamonds

Little did I know I would lose


Time’s nobility for eternity.

Our love was not of the world.

It was divine, it was mad

It surpassed all human dimensions,

But it was doomed to the shadows

And to obey the command

Of thirsty immortality,

To give God His due and to

Leave an heir for the kingdom

I dipped my pen in my lover’s blood

Thinking I was thus salvaging for glory

All my bottomless heart ever held

Dearer than the earthly dominion

Entrusted to my command.

A Bard for my kingdom.

On my tablets for posterity

I entombed my love

While he lived next our royal presence.


Oh little did I know what

Such transactions with time

Cost in the physical dimensions

Of this base earthly existence.

Rex Iacobus locket, Royal Collection

His youth, his precious beauty

I longed to leave the ages

That would come to marvel

At all my works, but his being,

His dear visage, the breathless

Presence of his manhood,

The begetter of all my heart

Would bear into the world,

Was my greatest testament

Through which I hoped

To shape all generations

That would succeed him

In the kingdom I bequeathed

This little blue rock,

My anchor and my harbour

For the short time of my stay

Away from home,

My glorious eternity.

By him I conceived,

And through him I bore

The generations of the isle,

Forming their beloved image

Within and without

Through my words

My golden-laced poetry

Begat by my desire for him.

And I left his name under it,

Wishing for myself no more

Than the honour of the Queen

Who loved him faithfully.

My children now weep as

They read my love confessions

They believe written by him

And think on us,

On our immortal, divinely

Breathed, heavenly love

We had to keep away from

Prying worldly eyes.

The tablets, I thought,

Would be enough evidence

And enough genetic code

Of immortal poetry

To form the generations

That would come to marvel

At his genius — my testament.

For is it the talent of the bearer

Or the love inspired by the begetter

That writes the genes of poetry?

I knew the secret

Would eventually burn

Through the treasury I left:

The store of breath-animated clay

That jump-sparks endless futures

Of happy creatures speaking

The language of my testament.

And so I left this votive door,

This confession buried

In the stamp of his eternal beauty

Deposited in life-giving lines

To be revealed when no one

Cares to remember his heart,

Which beat for me

And in harmony with mine.

I am Elisabeth, I wrote

My lover’s signature

And testament: a Spear

Shaken through the tears

Of a willow bent over

The lost heart of a queen

And her earthly children,

A loss that gained immortality

And the generations to come.

Cursed Hope Diamond of Louis XIV, the lost royal lineage



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