Lancelot

When the night courted the earth in a sacramental serenade
The moon was the sickle of the reaper’s blade
And starry lace over the obsidian eve was laid;
Constellations wandered the heavens on an arcane crusade
And riding in his own dark glory was a knight of light and passion wrought.
His passage was heralded by the heavens’ silent choir
His way was lit by the seraphs’  tears of fire
But all the prestige in the world would not quell his desire;
The unfaltering champion Lancelot.

The starlight glittered in his silver-spangled mail
It shined like ivory upon his smooth skin pale
Distinguished against his raven mane, black as bale
As he rode fearlessly through the darkness of moor and dale
Wending his way to Camelot.

At the darkened crest of a silent rise
He turned a cobalt gaze toward the skies
North star gleams o’er the land where his heart lies;
He saw the distant towers in their night-kissed guise
“My quest shall end soon,” murmured Lancelot.
Then in soft lullaby he sang a tune
Beneath the velvet sky and burning moon
Speaking of love, his bane and boon ;
She who awaited him in Camelot.

His steel spurs flashed in a silver command
And his ebony steed tore across the tenebrous  land
The knight’s dark-jeweled eyes were blazing like a brand
As he pursued his homecoming with an ardent hand;
Across the chill night raced Lancelot.

Through the gates, through the streets, the hoof beats shivered on the air
Through the sleeping city, thunder shattered silence in a canticle  and dare
In all the shadow-shrouded windows, he could feel the fearful people stare
As he tore through the moonlight like a darker answer to their prayer;
Through the cloak-and-dagger darkness of midnight Camelot.
He drew slowly to a standstill in the silvered shade
Gazing at a solitary light above, where the candlelight rollicked and sashayed
Silhouetted in the fulgor  was the woman he’d been forbade.
For an eternity he stood in sundered silence, the fey  knight Lancelot.

There is a passion forged in the flames of the forbidden, burning brightly
Beneath a silken sky, somewhere betwixt heaven, hell and eternity.
In a fairytale land of come what may and what may never be
Guinevere gazes into the night and whispers his name softly:
Lancelot.