Through the castle gate I find
a sullen angel robed in white,
demure yet strong of spirit she,
held paused in waiting for her knight.
Worry peaks her gentle brow
beneath sweet flows of chestnut locks,
yet longing moves her spirit forth
in waves of hope that silence mocks.
She is my love, my Guinevere,
in tawny alabaster skin,
left standing at the chapel doors
declining to go in.
She looks to me from amber eyes,
a silent tear upon her cheek.
She calls my name below her breath,
afraid to hear it, afraid to speak.
Across the courtyard, faintly seen,
a glint of shield and sword,
tossed in moonlight’s dust and mist,
floating on a whispered word.
Alas, I cannot call to her,
nor move beyond my breaking heart,
yet shuddered sobs of disbelief
deny my hidden ghostly art.
She turns to me in hesitation,
with reaching hand and heaving breath,
sobs my name in quaking timbre,
beholds me here past gates of death.
In silent sweet repeating,
I beg forgiveness and her love,
vow to hold her hand in living,
vow protection from above.
In death I stand with broken heart
as to my eyes my love unfolds
in heaps of sobbing sadness,
midst “whys?” that shall remain untold.
Through mourning gates at last they come,
bringing home what flesh remains
on bloodied, battered stallions,
reduced to battle scars and stains.
She stands to face me squarely
across the courtyard’s timeless cast,
whispers clearly, “yours eternal”,
and bows to let the bearers past.
As chapel candles draw them in,
she turns to hold my ghost once more,
blows a kiss in love eternal,
then steps beyond the chapel door.
