My Lady

Would there be but a deaf mute to which I could vent my frustration, A minuteman to race to my rescue in times of strife, Or even a common misanthrope to bear evidence of mutual anguish, Or even serve as comparison, I daresay I might well be contended, But evil and goodness do not harbor friendships, And though Lady Misery is vile and detestable-utterly reproachable- She doth require and maybe even need, Company. A companionship that is much like love and devotion, All-encompassing and irrefutable, Thus is my dilemma and ultimate chagrin, That which cannot be protested outright, Be mourned in silent rage and torment, Never lamented as so as not to cause kissing pricks to the Lady's ear, Or bolster her egotistical vanity by defaming her distinguished name, Yet not bringing her reign to ruination, Because she smiles prettily with talon teeth, And walks with an air of superiority and disdain. But I do say, What...what person, undeserving of Hades' wrath, Could ever find any form of solace or Godly peace, In the presence of such a Lady, Were they not of a chariot heart, For if such a person did exist and wished to give the Lady eternal rest, In the knowledge that she now has a willing victim, I would dutifully inform them that the lady has no love equal to herself, Except, perchance, her gilded, ornate, stationary, inanimate...mirror.