FAIRYTALE, part 3
Sword laid to stone, by dying sheen
Of brilliance on the eye.
Silent, alone, he holds his queen,
Though never once would cry.
In solemn tread o'er windswept loam,
Crestfallen shadows hold.
To reap the dead of childhood's home,
Lo, turn the warm heart cold!
The dessert calls, barren wastelands
Of riches never sought.
He stumbles, falls, cries in the hands
Of faces ne'er forgot.
Lo, Prince of Pain, proclaim your lust
In bricks laid to the morrow.
Walls of disdain formed to mistrust
Build your castle on Sorrow.
Self proclaimed King of Agony,
Watch Night become your day.
Forsake the sting of Misery
In life you sleep away.
From stone tower to ocean bluff,
By angel's call yet true.
That faithless hour sure enough...
Two heard, yet but one flew!
By silent scream, taken swift winds,
The maiden ever flies.
If but by dream emptiness rends
A past that never dies.
Take up the crown, unsheath the sword,
Time of siege now at hand.
Trophies laid down, by all accord
Falls your castle of sand.
For all behind was dark and drear,
And all before was night and fear.
How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew.
[This message has been edited by Michael (edited 04-05-2000).]