CAMELOT FANTASIES

You as well 💖 hehe

Madeline's Dream




She lies in dim shadows upon the bed,
With wreathèd limbs, as every serpent's shine
Enclothes its form, but for her chestnut head,
Her eyes closed to the world. In little time,
She sleeps, and dreams of horses high and fine
Mounted by knights, their swords drawn to the sky:
Fought tooth and claw for lady Madeline
Rooted to a tree, while her breathless sighs
play lute-strings to the bloodied hue and cry.

They joust and fence, the blows strike to the bone
Till one falls to his feet, and wretchèd,faints,
The other lifts his helmet to the sun -
Young Porphyro kneels to her silken train
His hair all askew in the thund'ring rain,
And says, "Wilt thou be mine, my Madeline?"
Engirdles his arm round her waist, and strains
Her to his heart, while their lips intertwine
As flowers round their ankles weave and wind.

From the closet-cavern he softly creeps:
Her rich brown tresses on the pillows wave:
Curl round her arms, like monsters from the deep;
(Whilst from her quiv'ring throat sobs shake and heave)
Like tails of creatures bred to deceive.
Restless she stirs, the blanchèd sheets flung down
Her rounded arms from silence wreck and rave
A storm unleashed. With fevered, raging yawns,
Her beauty unmask'd to St Agnes' moon.

Like one enchanted by a lamia's charm
Knowing full well his soul is fast enchained
He gazes on her still unravish'd form
And strums an ancient song, tear-drawn and quaint
To fairer ears than his. His lovely saint

Horns and Armor




Light laps in a windblown skirt
dancing from land’s fallen grace
While oars rake through a fog bank
and slice slick in a blackened face

Rage heaves the dragons head
exhausted of limbs it once held
Demons race thick in each mind
as warriors glance back at the felled

Red congealed like dripping rubies
a sword glistens of muscle and fat
Strewn are the horns and armor
at thy brother’s back

The deck is stained in rich iron
and flooded with tempest thought
Foul weather carries scent of battle
as honor of victory is sought

Sleeping Castle




As I walk along the hillside crest,
the castle comes to view,
A medieval stronghold,
gathering the dew.

I stand alone among the stone,
Once built with steady hands,
Now left in a state of desolation,
Slowly eaten by the land.

If stone could speak,
in solemn words and signs,
Echoing the imprints
of past and distant times.

Once a vibrant, lively place,
the castle is no more,
Weathered by the winds,
and ravaged by war.

The castle, died long ago,
Leaving small trace of it's past.
Endless nights turn to morning lights.
Days and dusk, amassed.

When the castle's gone, legend lives on,
for every man has his story,
of kings, beasts, folklore and outlaws
Bathed in all their glory.

If stone could speak,
through the cracks it would leak,
legends, and tales of men.
Since put to rest, never stirred again.

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Thank you Clay are these your poems they are very beautiful and eloquently formed