Queen of Ice

Icicles form in her snow-white hair,
Twirling and twining and waiting
To be noticed, hanging there.
Frost covers her flatline lips,
Cold, unwavering, etched in.
Shining, even under the total eclipse.
Darkness surrounds, echoes resound.
The cold of her heart hardens.
The Queen is crowned; she is bound.

King of Fire

The sun is too hot on his skin,
It burns and sears until the pattern
Is found: it begins.
He is blinding like the sun shining
On the mirror on coronation day.
He is who they saw at the Finding.
He, the raggedy chimney-sweep
Is to be crowned, is to rule alone:
His girl dead, and he left to weep.
The King's heart is gone: Embers and ash.