I would declare independence
from the tyranny of your memory,
rebel against you, arrogant queen,
whose edict banished me forever to foreign lands,
and colonize a new domain,
a humble, fallow district,
were it not for the truth self-evident
that my inner citizenry
will accept no other governance
than your gentle hand:
this banished patriot remains sworn
to uphold your reign.

The heart is not a democratic organ;
love, not legislation.
My vote prompts certain veto;
my veto, overruled by unwise decree—
the passionate discourse of the upper and lower houses
are too taxing without representation
on my failing constitution.

Easily lies the head that wears the crown
when ill-advised by pretty, petty council
to forswear the sacred covenant
and execute conviction without fair jurisprudence—
I despise the checks and balances
that could not save my petition
from being met with foul suspicion.
All men are created equal in truth:
we rise and fall apart in our pursuit of happiness
when imperious whims nullify our election.

Would that I had within me a traitor, craven bold,
who could declare independence from the oppression
and disdain of your cold command performance.
Or a champion or diplomat to win again the concession
of the tattered haven of your loyal and royal regard.