Languishing in the Arms of Morpheus…A Knights Tale (Pt 1).

Beneath the gnarled fingers of a bowered Oak,

a knight languishing in the arms of Morpheus stirred.

The fates had danced cruelly with him, leaving him bloodied

and exhausted…

the brutality of the battle past scarred his armour; chipped and dented,

mail, sword slashed and rented. Yet his soul remained undefeated and unclaimed.

Short of breath, staving off death, he rose, and continued his journey, plodding

the eroded path to oblivion…lost to the machinations of war.

The star of the Goddess was shining brightly on a moonless night, when he came upon an inn, where he thought to stop awhile, gain some repose, rest his weary bones and reflect upon a passion spent. But an empty refuge was cold in its greeting. Swords of defeated memories lay all around, six cups once filled with rays of hope lay spilt; the shimmering liquid of nostalgia seeping into cracks upon cold stone floors.

Ragged banners adorned the walls, remnants of faded victories, fluttering on the chill breeze blowing through the broken door. Wearied by war, or was it something more? The knight felt his veins turn to ice and turned to leave, as if in fright,

but was held fast by a gaze that only belonged to the night.

A voice edged in shadows cold and hard, spoke…

“I’ve been waiting for you…traveller.”

A sconce, held a low light of a dying flame in melted fingers

giving a deathly glow to the woman sat below. Her features hidden,

except for a pair of cat-green eyes that shone from a darkened cowl.

On a table in front of her, lay a tarot spread upon a silken towel,

cards in divine proportion, the symbol of beauty and perfection.

But the knight was set on insurrection, and moved to draw his sword,

he began to gag, becoming strangled as if with invisible chord.

“Your weapon is of no use to you here traveller!

Stay your hand fool! …Come sit!

…Listen to what the cards have to tell…

of what was past, and what is, and what may be…

And of a man…on his way to Hell.”

The knight with fascinated obedience, as if in trance,

sat to listen to the woman who shot him one last glance

then began to read… 

Paul Williams 2006©