Sleeping Queen

Atop her velvet cushion and astride her golden throne
She plucks the lute and graces all her court with benedictions.
They part before her majesty, cast petals in her path.
My hand falls to the pommel of the blade strapped to my thigh.

She sways across the ancient stones worn smooth by noble feet
And laughs at jesters plural as they mock and taunt the court
She giggles madly at their histrionic ape of etiquette.
My tempered blade sings coldly as it whispers from its sheath.

She dances to a melody played deep within her skin
Her court and jesters nod their heads to tunes inaudible
Pretend, to win her favour, that they hear the absent music.
The tallow candles gutter in the breeze that marks my passing.

While nobles dance to silence all her fields lay bare and fallow
No fertile green of wheat, just stubble from the season past
The serfs lay fat and lazy in the shade of unpruned orchards
And as I pass the rotten fruit falls wasted to the earth.

Her king is dead, he drowned in cups of bitterness and ale
She watched him as he took his life in ounces, sip by sip
She thought then that he loved her and she shared his cup of poison.
The courtyard stone cracks bitterly beneath my armoured feet.

She dances in her marriage clothes to madness in her mind,
While entropy usurps her rule, in kingdom and in heart.
Her larder and her cellar have been pillaged by her supplicants.
Sword in hand I stand before the oaken doors of court.

Within I hear the jackals as they stomp and dance in unison,
I hear the calls for loaf and bottle echo in the hall.
She dances on in silence, unaware that royal personage
Makes excellent companion to a meal of cake and mead.

And so I stand, while all have fled, outside the heavy doors.
It matters not that slumber overtook her on her way.
My oath is mine to keep or not, my honour is my own.
She will awake, the dance will end, she will reclaim her throne.

Till then I stand outside her court and watch with sword in hand
Prepared to leap within and stand between her life and harm
If she awakes before they turn to royal flesh for bread
Then sword becomes a ploughshare and my heart the seed I’ll sow.

Her fields will swell with grain and orchards bend with heavy fruit
Her serfs will laugh and toil for just a glimmer of her smile
I’ll join them in the fields and cast out entropy forever
Her kingdom will yet thrive in peace and plenty far and wide.

Dance on, my queen, let sleep give sweet respite to waking ills.
For deep within your weakened frame lies heart of lioness
Though bleeding now it gains in strength and soon it will awake
To purge your kingdom of its ills and claim your crown again.