The King Of Hearts And The Gypsy Queen-Part 1
Age Rating: 13 +
This is part 1 of a 6 part epic poem of sadness that turns into a love everlasting.
The King of Hearts
The King of Hearts sighed in weary resignation,
“ As the renowned ruler, I am cruelly cursed with faulty visions and lonely aspirations,
a paltry spectator who has lost his olden crown to lingering fleeting shadows.
I watch the blaring glare of garish grand illusions
acted out by a host of misty-veiled, white-gowned celestial specters.
Their voice of choice resounds in blaming;
skirring-whirring high-pitched wailing sounds. ”
He glances at his glossy gold-framed oval mirror;
perchance betrayed by a bewitching hindrance,
it reflects a bleary bald-faced fact of sorrowed lines and clinging crags.
No wonder that his gladsome smiling countenance sags,
eludes him; yesterday, today, and then tomorrow.
Applied in wails of teary weeping, droning cries,
a groaning continuation he cannot deny.
His royal throne is wrought of selected cold-hard granite.
“ These toilsome times are doomsday troubled,
foiled into starkly rolled and darkly drear;
naught but gloomy raindrops drip from up above
to fill my overflowing eyes below.
The pain of proper language that I know looms grey in deceptive lies,
double-talking of despair.
My aching heart rejects sweet notions of kindness, loyalty, truth and friendship,
I swear on Jupiter’s jovial planet I have found no receptive, eternal love to share. ”
Dull-some days turn into sullen morose months,
as saddened seasons quickly come, but never seem to go.
He walks the cloistered halls from room to room,
maddened footfalls echo in his saline silence.
“ I feel at such a hazy loss, a lull where nothing changes.
I see no glazing colors bright in burnished pigmentations,
I'm caught up in a draining pitch-black hole.
Any nosegay figments that I hoped to catch are shattered into bitter fragmentations.
My intended sense of babbled fate escapes me,
there’s an ominous reasoning to the frayed and fuzzy puzzlement;
violence, a living thunder clangs a beating ballad within my heaving chest. ”
The gabled wooden stables house his moody snorting steed;
the good natured groomsman saddles him with hurried haste,
crooning serenades gently in his ear.
The noble King sits astride the fabled stallion, breeded strong;
carries with him his coat-of-arms and double-edged claymore,
chief of sheathed defenders to smote his erstwhile enemies.
Hinted rumors lend credence as they start their furthest journeyed quest.
Parting, not tarrying; galloping free from alarming worry,
far from the furnished castled fortress.
Tracing the solaced parabled path that leads to somewhere,
a labeled place where he shall feel more than brigandine blessed.
The Gypsy Queen
The night is heavy laden with the sparkling stars, lighted eyes of heaven.
The silvery bladed smoke of fine maduros fills the crisp clean air,
as I listen in delight to the group of dark skinned men
softly strumming Spanish-stringed guitars;
then greedy fingers, larked wings a flight
move catgut bows across their vibrant violins.
The give and take of levitated rhythms old,
remembered bars passed down through untold generations
swiftly captures the plight of my nomadic spirit,
the sighing restless music of creation.
My long dark flowing hair bestows a reckless river-line,
slithers fondly down my spine;
charting its caldron course, falls in furlonged waves that wander to and fro.
My necklace fair, pounded thin from stolen gold
holds rare adornment of a single teardrop garnet, standing starkly proud,
a spark of blood against the olive glow of my chaste Romany-mined skin.
A purified awakening to a visible pledge,
the source belonging to the respective virgin bride of a phantom lover I am told.
The communal campfire burns in gradient colors bold,
a torching red and yellow lamp; weaving, curling, arching ever higher.
A romping compliment to my swirling skirt of radiant blue,
it's blasting hue a contrast to my palest ivory peasant blouse.
The low-cut sleeves are in straight alignment
with the rounded contour of my youthful outlined breasts;
in truth a traited flirt in innocent allurance, at my core I am pure and undefiled.
No frowning, sighing man dare touch me, lest he seek my father's hateful vengeance;
he must beware the proof, the hailing glare of shining steel.
Never slow or hesitant, unfurling pain, a hutch of pointed retribution is his stringent gain.
I dance in flighted tambourine fever, this night’s appeasement to our Druid gods.
Even though the banded embers glow hotter than the brands of Hell,
I feel a ceaseless shivering deep within this Gypsy Queen, my bodied soul.
The morning’s creeping light in slow increments ascends;
pleasing, blinking bright stands the rising sun.
We are granted an atonement in slanted vistas vast;
tinged serene with heights of fluid pink.
The ringing bell of blessed desire caresses, aspires to life in sacred trilling notes,
lifted sky-high on the singing breeze;
spilling, brings Pan’s fluted drifting melody.
Swift of soles, bred in my bones I walk the oft-trod pine-treed pathway,
nimbly passing through my shrub-shrouded goal,
proud the invisible doorway sways;
simple leaves, limbs and vines rank as guardians and protectors of the holy shrine,
its secret entrance deftly leads me to my personal god, stalwart Treo’ Riparius.
Blithely he stands watch on the mighty river’s heathered edge.
Grandly pledged in greeting, his arms are dredged;
gnarled, snarled and weather-beaten.
His priestly robes quiver in their cowled creasings,
clutched in dripping greenish-grey of hanging mossy drapings.
Boney fingers stripped of stony bark are charnelled black;
his advice is lean of language, matchless probing age.
His wise-as-owl eyes are hollowed out,
Vantaged Wisdom is his middle name.
The muted beauty of his dutied silence states his truest strength.
I see his newest faithful consorts, construed as diligent Water Chinquapin;
appreciated Lady Lilies, densely velvet-dressed in lengthy blooming bowers.
His mated floating female spirits holding court,
drenched with their fragrant palest yellow flowers;
Rapunzel's celebrated gold with them is carefully spun,
shaped into balanced petaled parasols;
pinched crowns, their halos shade them from the eastern sun.
I unveil my mellowed self to them, my gypsied life unsold,
my heart apprised and soul unhidden, an allied daughter undisguised to them I cleave.
No failings, forever safe in growing knowledge that I alone have been palladium chosen,
accepted in their coted fold;
they glissade in their liquid dance, a dipping dainty-cupped ballet.
I’m bedecked, bedewed, bejeweled in their emerald colored leaves,
my naked honored homage is my show of proud allegiance.
Rapt adoration in my respect and reverence, a dauntless guiding beam
which reflects reality, the faultless fealty of both spiritual and physical realms.