Through twilight, dark, and pale white moon, my scarlet tears will run,
For stolen blood and whispered words of fantasies undone.
If only I could kneel beside and weep upon his grave,
And speak to him of thoughts of love, and reveries depraved.
By haunted shores and restless seas, blood drenched and unredeemed,
Seek solace in black secrets told, through whispers of a dream.
Through veiled and pagan history, where superstitions reign,
These are the shores where to his soul desires to be lain.
Destiny awaited him, his life a path divided,
In awe of glorious battles fought, a throne his Lord provided,
Then treachery, a wingless beast, came crawling to his court,
And now he lies, in Avalon, from wounds a traitor wrought.
Where are your men, their bannered flags, where are your shining knights?
For chivalry and courtesy has long fled from all sight.
To be replaced by stupid men, both simpletons and fools,
Too caught up in ‘nobility’, the stubborn, churlish mules.
So hear my words, Pendragon born, the stuff of legends made,
How bittersweet your triumphs seem, your secrets left unsaid.
The arrogance of people born, under England’s bitter skies,
Perfection of Britannia’s thorn, attesting your demise.
For seven brides served me seven sins, and seven seas writhe for me,
From Orient gates to R’lyeh, Abydos to Thessaly,
And Sirens sing from stern, for now I cease to play,
For I yearn to return, to woodland ferns,
Where Herne and his wild huntress lay.
Originally Posted On Site: 2008-07-04 15:48:45
Last Login: 07.04.08
Visits as of 12-12-07: 185
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