Fill Her Sorrows (Tritina)

Her compass lost, the meridian fill
an estranged soul with bearings from her
belligerent, bountiful sorrows.

No name to put upon her sorrows,
she draws from sweet wine to quench her fill.
A silent steed escorts a liquored her.

Under drunk heart, a storm brews her
sovereignty with odious might. Sorrows-
Let them be, to take their aphotic fill.

She marks her duty with grief over-fill,
peasents pledging sentiment to her.
Alas, here she comes; reigning queen of sorrows.

Submitted for Colm's 7-day challenge:
"Alas, here she comes; reigning queen of sorrows." from my previous poem, Framing Mona Lisa on 2010-01-13.