I feel honed keen like a sovereign blade. Twin to Excalibur, the heart of the land locked in place, entombed in a carin composed of anguish & dispair. Indisposed to relinquish a single pebble from the walls, afraid of the sight of a world conceived in the light of broken promises & lost opportunity. But what the light reveals remains concealed until the barrier is dismantled. Of the future unaware, she sits in silence, awaiting the grasp of a rightful hand to release her.
The mirror image of a sword trapped in stone, fearful of any unknown new keeper, but desperately yearning to consign their gifts to another worthy master.
Struck to form by a gilded hammer from on high. Camelot beckons me, and I am resolute on my quest for the key to unlock the gates. For beyond them resides the making of a most wondrous palace, built through the accretion of tenderness & sympathy.
Cautiously though I tread across a bridge made of gelid glass. Suspended above the reflection of lightning on a placid river. The surface of which appears to forshadow an emerging effervescence of reciprocity & wanton desire. But the path is obscured by a mantle of illusory faith.
Beyond this blanket of clouds lies the destination, the cold mountain of unrepentant truth. As the summit approaches, the mysteries of madness rest in darkness anticipating revelation. And I am overcome by a sanguine expectation that my journey will bestow a tenuous glimpse of my passport to the sublime kingdom. But if no such vision can be unearthed atop this lonely peak, my fervency will certainly impel me beyond the rim of the caldera.
Because Camelot is a treasure so supreme, that no inferno can match the fire that burns for her discovery. .
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