Still Working on a title

She wept in fear for her life

And mourned the loss of her maiden head

Long before he even touched the bed.

Before the battle was lost,

Before the keep was afire

He came in gentle guise

To woo her heart and desire

Beneath the starry skies.

“Why do you deny me?”

Was his heartfelt plea

“When you greet me so joyously.”

“I do enjoy such visits”, she whispered in despair,

Her face was pale badly showing wear.

“But you are blood thirsty without slake

And I will not for my own pleasure’s sake

Shackle my entire country

To your cruel carnality.”

So when he stormed the gates

And fought through to the hall-

He found his lady love-

The one to quench his desire-

Laying pale in her own blood.

Pale and still in her own blood.

His cry to heaven was great, his fury knew no limit

All the gentleness and all the good, the tiniest bit

Fled from the cold ashes of his heart’s dying fire.

He laid about him with his bright blade,

Screaming out his pain and rage

Bloodying even the youngest page.

Until at least, the Reaper came

Grim and silent in his robe and veil,

A terrible bargain he did make.

So with a curse to heaven;

And a promise to hell-

The determined warrior won

Both bride and country as well.

He dressed her well and fed her the finest

And kept from her the horrors of her conquered land.

But even when in the great hall alone

She sat silent, never speaking

Never smiling, never weeping

As pliant as silk, but as warm as stone.

One long winter night he thought

He might have heard a soft moan,

But dismissed it as fancy alone.

Yes purest fancy because at his glance

Her eyes were straight ahead and glaring

As they had never returned from the veil

As though she had lost all caring

Purity and kindness, even mind gone.

The determined Usurper King

Have won all this by force and guile

Lost what he treasured most

His lover’s beautiful smile.

Even when he lay with her at night and she gave him what he sought

The sweet juices and pleasure of her womanly cleft.

His heart grieved and wept, his shriveled soul bereft

Now our great Warrior King has learned that true love cannot

Be bartered, stolen, forced or bought.

For through his passion, through his every gentle attempt

She lie as though still dead, her pale face frozen in contempt.

Until one cold winter’s night, she rose from their bed

Madness and Passion glittering in her cold eyes, as slowly she tread

Her belly was large with his child and her white breasts

Gleaming, the moonlight through the window streaming,

Showed the blood of her death wound, hideous and fresh

In dazed horror he stepped back. Knowing both be freed, if only by his death.

 

His own twisted dagger winked silver in the night

As down it came again and again, it slashed,

He never struggled, he put up no fight.

To her frightful blows he succumbed with a sigh

Glad to make his worst sin right-

He lay there and died.

Somewhere in a sunny meadow

A virgin Queen still laughs and

A young and still brightly shining King

Has finally found the light.