The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad sir Lancelot du Lac.

When first he came to Camelot
The orphan knight, Sir Lancelot
Did prove his worth to Arthur's Court
In jousting, and such noble sport
And with his charm and courtly grace,
His confidence and handsome face,
He won the heart of Guinevere,
And so he found his heart's one fear.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

In tournaments and deeds of arms,
He never fell to earthly harms.
His Lady's scarf about his breast,
He held aloft his knightly chest
And for her honor always strove,
And worshiped her with courtly love.
But she is wed, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

Beneath a tree, the young knight slept
And one day, four queens on him crept,
The chief of them, Morgan Le Fay.
With magic, they stole him away.
A choice they begged of him to make,
That one of them his heart should take.
But love is strong.  They had no luck
In tempting Lancelot du Lac.

When Melegans stole Guinevere
A cart, Sir Lancelot did steer
To reach the hold where she was kept,
Then toward the treacherous knight he leapt.
He bested him with slash and blow,
But to Sir Lancelot's great woe
His Lady simply laughed in jest
And saw no honor in his quest,
For he arrived upon a cart.
Thus, broken was the young knight's heart,
And in a rage he left the place.
He longed just for his Lady's grace.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

So when he quested for the Grail
He made a promise he would fail.
He said he'd not love Guinevere,
But as he spoke, he shed a tear.
He knew one day their love would end
The table round, and hurt their friends.
So when this promise he did break
The land of Camelot did quake.
For Agrivan, King Arthur, told
His wife did love Lancelot bold
And Arthur sent her to the pyre
To end her sinful love, in fire.
But Lancelot, his queen, did save
And Arthur fell into the grave
And all the knights of Table Round
Were torn apart, could not be bound.
And thus the fall of Camelot
Was caused by one Sir Lancelot.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of bold Sir Lancelot du Lac.

In a clearing in the woods, two brothers fight.
They ram each other, wrestle with their pointed crowns.
The winner gains the power and the right
To rule their father's ancient, sylvan grounds
And will have the favor of the fairest doe.
So they lock their antlers, tearing from the start.
The loser has to face the snows alone.
A solitary creature is the hart.
But come the winter, brothers lose their crowns
And in the spring the hope for better years abounds.

The lustre of your silvery eyes
Outshines the winter waters, cold
And has a cool, familiar air
That only snowy blankets hold.
Safe and soothing, blue like ice
That glistens on a glassy lake
In mid-December while at home,
That's showered in white, snowy flakes.

The majesty of winter storms,
The power in the blizzard, white,
Is there, behind those frosty panes
And reveals an inner might.
That cool, familiar, soothing air
That only snowy blankets hold
Is well protected by this gale
When circumstances need you bold.

The powerful, majestic storms,
The blizzards in their wintry might
Are safe and strong, are reassured
By one unfailing, snowy sight.
The mid-December time at home,
The water tucked in glistening flakes,
Reflected in your ice blue eyes
Is soothing, cool, like glassy lakes.

You can't be rough with mice.
If you are, she pays a price
For putting you inside her trust.
She must not see your smile is naught but dust.
So while you have your rowdy fun,
She wants to cower hide or run
Toward her safe and cozy place,
But mice can't outrun dogs and tomcats in a chase.
But you don't care, or you don't see
She's given all her heart to thee.
And so you bat, and paw, and chew,
Because mice are not as strong as you.

You must be strong for a mouse,
And build a safe and steadfast house
Inside a proud and sturdy chest,
On which she might just place her head and rest.
But you don't care, or you don't see
And with you, mouse is never free.

It's a scary thing, to do.
A frightening thing, to act.
Sometimes it's hard to follow through,
And so you wait in bed, compact.

Beyond that door, there is a world of hurt
And the bed is safe and warm,
But on the chair is your coat and big-boy-shirt,
And you have to face the storm.

Sometimes, at night, you see the stars,
You feel the sky is raining fire
While the dull, electric rush of cars
Makes you wish you don't aspire
To freedom
And to love.  Be bold,
And seldom
Will you feel old.

Let the comets grace your skin.
Let the wind caress your hair
And follow down your spine and in
Your chest, and breathe away despair.

Face the lightning on the road
And the fury in the stars.
Leave the safety safe at home.
Give yourself some battle scars.

There's a slow burn.
It starts off as an ember.
First it keeps you warm,
And it's a fond thing to remember.
But it grows.
The air heats and expands
Inside your chest,
And starts to ache, and shake your hands.
Then it slides into your gut,
The thing that slowly burns,
And it writhes around inside you.
Oh it churns.
And at times it jumps.
When you least expect, it shifts.
It slithers toward your throat
And it finds your jaw, and lifts.
There's a thing that burns, so long and slow,
And hides the world in smoke,
And if you wait too long, it starts to sting
And choke.
So at times, you keep it secret.
Oh you hide it, this you learn
With the fear that if you free it
It will twist, and break, and burn.

When the North Wind blows, it howls, it blows
To toss my ship in frigid cold.
The icy wet does chill my breast,
And hardens hearts, both young and old.

When the East Wind Blows, it laughs, it blows.
Its mischief sends my ship astray.
What fancy fun the East Wind hums,
But leaves my charts in disarray.

When the South Wind blows, it screams, it blows.
Such stormy shrieks do scrape the rails.
This wind, with rain, brings numbing pain.
Its screeching voice could tear my sails.

But when the West Wind blows, it sighs, it knows
Its whisper, soft, will gain my trust.
And on voyage long, it sings its song
And gives my ship a gentle gust.

When the West Wind blows, it knows, it knows.

Sun, take me.
Earth, let me rest
And seep into your soil,
Your healing breast.

To think I thought I loved the moon.
I've lost my lust for starry eyes.
I feel no fear of sunny skies.
I've fought my way through midnight lies.
To think, I thought I loved the moon.

The stars, outshone by golden fire,
Once made me drunk as cloudy night,
But now I see the brilliant light.
So now I quit, and will not fight
The stars, outshone by golden fire.

To think I thought I loved the moon.
In daylight now, I start to croon.
In warming rays, I start to swoon.
And to think,
I thought I loved the moon.

Be as a sweet nocturne to my ear,
Beautiful in nostalgic melancholy,
Or as a thorny rose, for fear
Thou should be plucked from memory
For thy odor. Moved to tears
Would I be if sweet incense
Were inhaled cheaply, for here
Unworthy senses give no recompense

And no reminder of vision seen.
Lost by waking breath
Like ethereal steam.
Your vibrant imagery, put to death.
Oh sweet nocturne, oh passed dream.

And the shadows of the heavens
Hide Diana's brilliant face.
Their ethereal steams and skyward fogs
Do cloud her midnight grace.
At half past one I hear the night song,
But the sky is shrouded in this place.

The air, so chill to freeze my blood
With fear, does fail at its post,
For safe I am inside my coat.
Through blindness, I will feel the ghosts.

So in the trees I hear the steps
Of something midnight strolling.
I hear its feet tread on the leaves.
It should be gone, come morning.

I hear a song in howls around
As something wanders near me.
The light of night cuts through the clouds
But for a moment.  Then I see.

It's on this bright december night
Should something come a shining.
If weren't it for the sky's dark fight,
The moon would not be hiding.

Sky:

If I should drape about my shoulders
The ancient, velvet shape of sky,
I'd show you all the shades of stars
And teach you constellations' cries.

Sea:

Reflect, I would, your shifting grace,
And hold you, whether black or blue,
And on your best and cloudless nights,
Respond with all your solemn hues.

Sky:

To dare to dance, to bet our lives
While we, the dark horizon host,
To mold that line, our one endeavor
And of our boldest virtues, boast.

Sea*:

So smooth, our sinews intertwine,
Supporting, sifting, sliding back
At midnight hours, free of the sun,
And left to roll in supple black.

To see the world through fairie lens,
The scrying pool, the artist's pen,
To live in such a wond'rous world
Will feed the lover's soul, unfurled,
Will free the heart to catch the moon
Will start romantic hearts to swoon.
So Percy, young and free at heart,
Who from his love was torn apart,
Walked the woods in shadowy gloom
Proclaiming death of love, and doom,
When stepped he into fairy ring
And heard the satyrs *****, sing.
He watched the dryads flow'ry dance.
He saw the fairie happ'ly prance.
And in the midst of this he met
A vision out of Heaven sent
In form of twinkling, thoughtful eyes
And skin as clouds that grace the skies,
Skin much softer than the wind, and smooth
As stone that's by the water, grooved.
By magic fire a dance began.
By this spell, lost was the young man.
With eyes the color of the sea,
Began to court the fairy sweet,
Did Percy, past his other love.
By one touch from enchanted glove
Worn on hand of Percy's goddess
His heart did swoon and heave his chest.
That night the pair was lost in song
And Percy laughed and loved 'ere long.
At light of dawn the blue eyed youth
Received a kiss that spoke of truth
From elven maid, enchanted.
By the sun the fairie panted,
Shrinking from the light of morning,
And vanished fast, without warning.
Percy, in the wake of magic
Was abandoned.  Feeling tragic
He lay prostrate upon the hill.
As days did pass he lay quite still
And slowly, overcome by woe,
He begged the Earth, upon him, grow
And take his weight, his sky blue eyes
And help his tortured soul to die.
Upon the spot where once he lay,
So aided by the sun and rain
Did grow a pair of flowers, blue.
The Earth had taken up the youth.
When one year passed, on Eve of Saints
They Fey returned, with colored paints.
The girl who danced with Percy, young,
When all the singing had begun
Did find blue petals, growing strong
And wove them in her hair, so long.

The song that keeps me from my sleep
Is rife with lurking shadows, deep.
The voice that hums inside my head
Does well to keep me from my bed.
Unto my soul a curse was laid,
And though I've cried, and laughed, and prayed
My heart does pound, my sweat does pour,
And through the night, I rest no more.
The dreams I see when I'm awake
Would make poor Orpheus' heart break.
The marble smooth, the gentle strands
Do mock and taunt my writhing hands.
True, I could sleep if didn't I see
Two vibrant stars that love to haunt me,
Burning bright, yes burning through
My mind.  The ghosts I see are true.

So sweet, I see soft starlets
Where instead your eyes should rest.
So light, your gentle hair,
When let fall, your neck caress.
So hearts, by any sense,
Should pound as mine.
So know, I will my soul to
Soar, and betray my mind.

Tis not in commitment
To love that warrants beauty,
For fickle a girl beauty is indeed, not to be bent
By sorrow and pain filled gazers and dandies,
Eyes gleaming in fleeting hope, without sense,
That their smiles, enwrapped and dependent,
Will have recompense
By her gaze, resplendent,
And perhaps, if in good favor,
Have admiration bestowed on them amorously.
But nay, beauty is a fickle girl. Alas, we love her.
So as the breeze sings melancholy,
And the leaves reflect her lips of flame,
As milky clouds remind of her skin,
When her hair is night, dark and sleek, putting others to shame,
Filled with expectation
And apparitions of loveliness,
I think of the sweet longing,
Hoping for the moment not to pass.
The sweet longing
I loved then,
For a moment,
Lingering in the agony of emotion,
In a short eternity that I underwent.

I then found beauty.
But then the lights were no longer low,
The emotions, so resplendent in ardor, escaped me.
The façade was gone after the show.
Nay tis not in commitment to serve
Love that hold beauty.
Tis in the memory of nerve,
Tumultuous as a stormy sea.
Tis in the very slow-grown enthrallment
Of her melodious voice.
Tis in the memory of through what my heart went
When I told it to her by my choice.
When I told how it was stolen by her raven hair,
By her star-drenched skin,
By her cherry lips at which I’d stare,
And the voice so in apprehension, rife with emotion from within.
Tis not in the resolution itself
Of intricate harmonies and dissonances,
So pleasing to the ear in their discord and wealth,
But in the expectations and resonances
Of this ecstasy,
That resides beauty,
Which is why I told her my love and melancholy,
Letting her forget, and proceeding to flee.
For the wonderful nostalgic memory
Of the shortness of breath,
Would by intimacy,
Certainly be put to death.

As the majestic eagle loves his air,
Climbing, twisting, up his wispy stair,
Mocking Icarus’s too-soft wings,
For power holds the raptor o’er grandiose things,
Most a splendor, ardent in his realm,
As the captain at his galley’s helm
Is one with the sea,
Do I long to be.
I would have join me now a kindred soul,
One forged in the same heart-fires, o’er crippled Vulcan’s coal,
One who in the mold, so malleable
They matched my form, quite unbelievable.
But rather than by limbs, I would be wrought, as was his heart,
By scorn from woman loved, so as to start
A passionate, burning melancholy
Transcendent of society,
So to live, as if by freedom’s feathers,
And fly the sun, no melted wax, as brothers.