A Lovers Lament for his Queen
The silver moon shines in the wood,
Who’s leafy stillness
Hides the secret fantasies of night.
Shapes. Shapes in the dark.
The watchers. In shadowy silence they wait.
Then movement.
She comes,
And beckons for her serves to follow.
The first arrives.
A quiver. Black legs.
The glittering threads.
The beauteous web.
And now another. Up, up
Upon the rafters of nature, he sits.
Midnight’s music.
Eyes of shining amber
Bejewel the heart of darkness.
His feathers flutter.
And next, the enchanted number.
Wings, once again.
But gossamer, this time.
A fairy ring. Magical matrimony.
The mythical dream
Made real by moonlight.
I dream of her.
Or is she the dream?
I take her hand in mine.
She accepts my proposal, graciously.
The lover. The muse.
She surrounds
In all her subtle glory.
With all her gentle grace
Does she consume
My sinning self.
O heavenly sin!
O easy temptation!
Grant me this one godly vice
To purge myself
With her sweet virtue.
I bless. I touch.
Caress and kiss.
And with the tender ache of pleasure
Am I set free.
At last.
And so I lie upon the mossy bank,
And lose myself beneath a blanket of stars.
A cloak of darkness.
And then.
Then.
The knowing twinge.
A different ache. My heart, this time.
I hear voices. Singing. Lamenting her death.
Somewhere far away,
I sense the pale light of dawn.
Unyielding. Unforgiving.
The opal king is come to take his thrown.
But not yet.
Not yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment