a reprise of sir lancelot's reprise

Now longer, with more backstory & metaphor, and in stricter trochaic quadrameter (most of the time).


What say you now, fair Guenevere –
Does the memory of youth now lay
golden over your sweet slumber?
Or are you, like me, tormented
by ghastly dreams of bygone years,
chasing after each grey twilight?

Well do I recall those doomed days,
when we shivered with desire
in our small forbidden world.
Wretched wraiths of restless longing,
we pilfered sight-lines and soft words.
In the sun-drenched summer daylight,
we blazed briefly before night’s swift
talons tore the secrets from our souls
and wing-beats bore them to the king.
He reclaimed all our stolen glances,
melted away our borrowed time.
Guilt and starving sorrow dragged us
down the gauntlet of our sins,
and scarred we stumbled blindly
back into honor's waiting arms.

My lady! The years have been cruel,
but you, my dear, are crueler still.
Through hell I rode – you let me go
into exile, to save our names.
I would have rather whispered soft
traitor’s words to you for all my life.
And the cruelest thing of all is this:
shattered, torn, bruised and winter-cold,
my weary heart still turns to you.
Do you now long for freedom
as you did when your crown was new?
In agony I think of you
seated upon your crumbling throne,
fading into the quiet grief
that haunts those by whom time has passed.

My queen, I will not let it be.
When the raven sings at dawn and the
castle walls fall down – follow me.
All glory’s gone and gashed. Why then
be harnessed? Come with me
on a stolen ride through hellfire,
for we’re lonely slaves of longing
and hollow withered hope.