This tale I tell, I lived, and no man since has heard it told, About the warrior from the stone cleft, back when I was far from old. Niether enamored nor enhanced, in any least bit, not at all. The man who carried sword and rose, he still stands ten feet tall. With mighty sword in hand he came upon the crest and stood so bold, From the torrents, down he came into my village from the cold. From the raging storm, not stumbling, striding forth, just he alone, Dark blue rivulets of God's own tears caressing steel and stone. He spoke to elders, as I hid, unnoticed, very small For I was but a child then, and the man stood ten feet tall. One word, that word of horror, sent feet shuffling 'cross the floor. The word he brought to us, the word I trembled at was War. He said that from the mountains, like a lightning bolt of rage, There rode a mass of screaming men, frenzied with rampage. They'd crushed the great King's army, soldiers dead or fled in fear. And as he spoke, upon my hand, I felt my mother's falling tear. The elders asked how long they may expect before they left, And the man said, By the morrow, you will see them through that cleft. And upon that seeing, you shall know your life is near an end. And at this, he went outside, into the whining of the wind. The villagers were packing by the time that I came home. My mother holding tightly to my hand, sure I would roam. And looking back, I saw him standing, strong against the storm, On the outskirts of my village, like a statue in his form. Though I wondered all that night if the tall man had stayed, I could not stick my head out for my mother was afraid. My father, after packing, told us we must have some rest. And as they lay there sleeping, I crept out, I was obsessed. I slowly turned from closing, very gently, with a sigh, And saw his shape alight against the lightning of the sky. I ran to him to see if man had turned to timeless metal, And as I neared, I slowed to see him plucking off a petal. For in his hand he held a rose, and littering the ground, Were near two-hundred white rose petals, liying all around. In awe I could not move an inch, though try and try I might, Until he turned and said to me, Come out into the light. You were the young one hiding in the elder's speaking hall. But I was sure, so very sure, I'd not been seen at all. You should be home tonight, to rest. He, not unkindly, said. But at those words, I felt a kind of underlying dread. I wished to see, so much, my lord, I found the nerve and said, How fared you out here, cold, before I put myself to bed. I fare as well as any man whose lost his life. He spake. Come, sit you down, and I will tell a story of heartbreak. And sit I did, upon a rock as he sat on the ground, And comforted himself upon the petals all around. I come from Arthur's court, way to the North, The man began. I know not why I speak to one to young to understand. Of love and loyalty, but this may help you to evade, Mistakes that I regret that in the past I might have made. The way he said that made me think he may have seen some good, In those mistakes he spoke of, I was young but understood. In Camelot, you may have heard, there stood an awesome King. And I was honored when he asked if I would join the Ring. The circle that defended both the leader and his realm, United, close together, to protect with heart and helm. We met there, everyday, to speak on equal terms with him, Of how we could yet fill a cup that overflowed the rim. And he, in God's own wisdom, always saw the things that lacked, And came to a solution, but his sense, it must have slacked. For one bright day he made a great mistake in Camelot, Allowing his young bride to sit and share in with this lot. The error was not her, for she did give some good advice, Nor was it Arthur who, from that, has paid an awful price. She was a strong-willed woman who could give as well as take, But to see those blue eyes cry would cause a mortal's heart to break Her one outstanding feature was her luminescent skin, As white as milk and fine as any Eastern porcelin. But you, who are so young, would not begin to even know, How hard it is to hide it when true love begins to grow. By day I would talk strongly, at the table, would not fold, But night would come and find me weeping, longing her to hold. Then in cold late Autumn, to this I put a stop, I found her in the chapel, to my knee there I did drop. I told her all there was to tell, so that my heart was freed, And she, too, knelt and told me in her heart there was a need. For though Arthur was strong, a very kind and goodly king, It seemed he could not love, and in her eyes, the tears did sting. Such irony that such a man, with warm and loving face, Possessed an iron heart inside, and held with cold embrace. For many weeks, we spent the time, when we found ourselves free, Lying there with pleasure of each other's company. Until at last we were upon an emissary run, And got the news of fires, that a war had just begun. In Camelot, so bright and holy, we did hide that night. She told me, 'Arthur plans for war, you are to leave first light. Oh, dear, if I should hear of your demise, how I would cry, And in the hour of that message, surely I will die.' And so I promised her no man would touch me with a blade, And she did smile and weep upon the promise I had made. Her eyes alight like sapphires, she then whispered to me this, 'I love with all my heart, Sir Knight.' And sealed it with a kiss. But in that rapture, Arthur, who would tell me of the war, Did come, without a knock, and quickly opened up the door. And there he fell, his heart so weak, it could not stand the strain, Best efforts to revive him from his sleep were made in vain. Then to the bed he'd shared with my fair lady, he was took, Regaining for one moment consciousness enough to look. And when he saw me, one lone tear I saw fall from his eye, And there, the best man ever known did close his eyes and die. He stopped, and looked around, and wiped his eyes and said to me, Now young one, you must go, for morning light now do I see. But heed the tale I've told you, and remember all your life, You mustn't break the trinity of God, and man, and wife. I left him as he rose and faced the North, where all could see, The horde that rushed the mountainside with blade and savagery. I think I knew his mind then, as he held his shining blade. He thought about a promise, to a loved one, he had made. And as I neared my village, there were warning fires burning, So I, in rushing, had no time for idleness of turning. In drones, the people, crying, rushed and ran throughout the street, So much that I succumbed, and fell, but saw familiar feet. My mother, crying, grabbed me and proceeded then to run. The people now were moving, and the panic had begun. But looking back into the horde, I saw him fighting tall, And I knew he'd win the battle, for that man could never fall.
Reason for writing:
I've always wondered about the fate of Launcelot in the
aftermath of Arthur's death, so I decided to decide it.
I could never get it published anywhere else because it's
just too damn long. I would really and sincerely appreciate
any comments as to content and mood in the poem. Thanx bunches ;^)
Birth sign: Not entered
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