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A Mandrake's Gesture Vol. Viii

Madness exuded like the 
war cries of epic battles
and sagas' past,
the myth of man and 
the passionate woman.
As the eruption
began to procure its
preparations, Prince Alarumdives,
a moment with the King,
solace, questioning divinity.
"My father, what troubles 
plague us?  The trumpets 
do sound, do us not, impede
decision, for moment's wisdom,
pray we gather and bring
forth a judgement non-grievous."
"Alarumdives, Alarumdives. . . 
why we struggle; and endure,
our precious privy, our passion,
our victorious role, a 
maddening hysteria,
turmoil, envy?  Malice?
These perilous endeavors
that this kingdom, rightly
now, yours and mine,
forevermore, must uphold,
boldly, righteously, justice
and its decree."
"Father, this constance,
unhappy we, if respect
is compromised, be it for 
balance, ignorance I 
plead, for precious love,
my Geinere. . . ."
"Alarumdives, your wisdom
exceeds you, a gentle 
harmony passed.  Be it 
sincere, your declarations
to cherish, this unition
of marriage, not as 
virtue, for loves' royal
to the commons, not.
Can'st be, your labors,
this battle staging as 
war closely approaches,
a test, shall worthy
proven, joy then."
"My father, this Luciferus
impediment, a call to
arms, due parry peasant
royalty.  A falling star,
my mercies upon, this 
calling of crusade, of 
scarlet tides of Eden's
embrace, goodness surely
redeemed.  As graceful knight,
I embark, these ardors
of dire tragedies, kingdoms
indifferent, be it of ill-virtue,
of ill-decree?  May the spirits 
that beckon bring forth 
victory."
"Alarumdives, much needful
preparation, call'st to 
arms, for the galleys 
of this kingdom bulging
with cannon.  I am to 
the balcon to esquire,
gather, hence I salute."
"The masterful sounding of 
the ram's horn, a call
to bravery!"

The hills of high, there
did stand, a large 
platoon, the flags of 
Scotland, a summoning
to port Wales.  Torches
afire, blazening with 
the perils of passion 
and vixen angelic.
Viewing from afar, a
messenger apart, battle
today, no question.
As both tides 
prepared for climax,
the gallians, sure
mighty, though as
the Gods did pray,
only a taste, hints  
of nothing more.
The horns did exude,
and battle, that 
erupted, was as 
the raging winds
of Tyr. . . .

Copyright © Trevor Morse | Year Posted 2006

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