Queen

The Queen in sparkling blue presides over her audience,
All dancing, individuals lost within individuals,
And the Queen is just a tarted up, personality stripped version of Grace,
Slightly older with a beauty extending to movement only,
While a Voice self proclaimed as God speaks to the masses,
Thinking His control of the beats gives Him control of the people;
The Voice makes meaningless statements and sentiments
When all the revellers want to do is throw themselves at each other,
Showing the signs to those they find attractive,
Dropping the eyes when contact is made with the Gorilla;
Every turn is met with the sight of grinding, drinking and border-line riding,
False pretence dominates as the ugly believe they can snare a minx,
The good looking smile wryly while struggling to stand,
They will not be undressing for the Gorilla tonight
No matter how many times they are chased around the dance floor;
And as the politics of drunken deliberation and spiralling hormones is played out,
The Queen rules with mediocre movements that entrance
All the races and animals of this enclosed world equally,
While the withered old Mother looks up at her daughter’s throne
And remembers when her two-step shuffle was wisdom enough to be Queen.