The Selfish Knight and His Lady
The Selfish Knight and His Lady
Sixteen pieces for me
Allotted the same for you
But, it always begins with Me first
Unless the 'me' is you...
Whereupon, like Alice in her checkerboard world,
It's up to me to find our way.
It's up to you
To find my way...
I have been both pawn and knight
(never bishop nor king)
And our Queen moves so many ways
She never fails to make me spin.
"Capture the Queen,
Capture the Queen..."
I hear the forever cry
Emanating from the bishops
Holed up in their towers...
Chanting fealty and Romance
Singing of lady-love and noble favors
As I plod forward, a foot-soldier,
Or jump in frenzied el
The maniacal knight
An endless quest...
For her turn
(Your turn, that is, my Lady)
Comportment and Courtly manners
To match Courtly silks and tresses
Follow you in saffron mornings
All through glades of twayblade and cocksfeet;
Ever gathering, ever in the light
While light be present...
'Til evening's soft glow
Guides you home.
Took long years for one mortal
To build a pointed arch.
Arms extended
Through other arms
And tokens and chivalry pristine,
To your lofty heart.
But you removed the keystone
And that house of worship fell.
Unlike Samson in Gaza
Yours was no righteous strength
But some preternatural power
Summoned forth from within.
Sui generis
An altogether different vacuum-genesis
As lightning came from a dark, deconsecrated space
Not creation, but Her black twin.
As it was, so I deserved.
So here we are
Moveable pieces of glass cliché,
Infidels to the universe of Good
Imprisoned on a board
Within a game
Of skill, a game
within mirrors, a game
Within infinite possibility and paradox
Moved by, after all, an unknown hand.
And still, after all that, it is my fault.
We all learn that
Glass pieces, when struck,
By light, or love, or luck
Make fine parade of color
But cast no shadow.
Well, not
The hollow ones fashioned like you,
The one imprisoned my soul,
Turned prism opaque,
Forced the flight of radiant light...
But, fine pieces they do chip,
Or splinter,
Or break.
That's why they move
When someone shouts,
"Off with her head!"
So it is, after all
This fear which motivates ...
And dispatches all.
Copyright © R. H. White | Year Posted 2019
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