King Arthur
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Guinevere is a woman in progress;
her life is great, her eyes are budding like cosmos
Her blue jeans swell with love and Arthur's pride
She has doubts about her Elaine, and her Lancelot, and her future husband,
when the king of the britons awoke from his slumber
what did he see
he saw druidic groves
bulldozed by satyrs in hardhats and overalls
getting paid by the hour
bearded druids
In the Sherwood forest where the birds sweetly sing,
Flowers are blooming in the morning of spring,
Pulled sword from the stone,
I was given the throne,
I am Arthur, the once and future king.
Cold and wet. Grey pallid stone that is hard and exact. A glimmer, sheen, reflecting refraction of light shines off of a blade.
He is a king. No, a boy. Not yet a king. Not a man.
