Monday, April 01, 2002

 
On a flailing page, notes of rage in tempest tossed litany.
Voices light on fire in the twilight of falling stars.
Vain hope lashes out in the last moments of desperation.
A branch snaps and bones shatter to fly into the wind.
Desire slips on another robe and crimson shades fall.

Elizabeth Manou hugs her pillow tight
In desperation, ready for the fight
Of her life. Never having needed
Anything for herself but a seeded
Understanding that nature would
Come and steal her away
Brandishing a sword as a knight should
Swinging her into the saddle without delay.

Kristoff Barrows stood before the painting
Of a princess. She possessed a smile genuine
That parted beneath a cowl and a fainting
Brow that accentuated the sanguine
Mouth and stormy eyes that told
A sad story that would make even the bold
Tremble and the vainglorious step back
Realizing that this was the pivotal crack
The impetus of understanding that
Would forever change the role of unbound
Stars. He knelt below the painting, the mat
Under his knees a soft velvet, no sound,
Not even a whisper, a squeak, came on
To tell of the tale of terror that broke her song.

In a midnight vigil, the knight sat watching
As far away, a princess sat in fear
Together, the tapestry, the thatching
Of the roof of their world fell and began to tear.
Dreams burned fiction onto the pillow
Under the gaze of the weeping willow.

James posted this at 10:59 PM.