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Rated: E · Poetry · Folklore · #1701834
My take on Arthur's vision for Camelot; not accurate.

The sky, it seemed, was eternally starless.
Yet, under the unforgiving sky
Battles were fought.
Battles were lost.
Arthur lay.

He first dreamt of Camelot
Alone, under a dark, dark blanket
Of starless sky
Urging him to sleep,
Deeply.
Deeply.

His eyelids weighed as much
As the burden he bore
For his people,
His people.

Glimpses of gleaming gold flittered under his eyelids.
Camelot he whispered.
Camelot he said.
Camelot he shouted.
Camelot! He awakened.

With a gasp, he recalled his dream
What was that I dreamt of?
What was it I saw?
A gleaming city.

How could such a bright thing
Come to him in the darkness of a dream.


He forgot the images of
Sinful Bears mauling His beloved citadel down.
He forgot his city would soon lose its luster,
Lose its life.
He chose to push it out of his mind, out of sight.
We often leave the darkness of a dream
Where consciousness cannot meet it.

Camelot, it seemed, was the answer.
So he watched its birth, ground to heaven.

It would soon tumble down,
It would soon tumble down.
The City of Camelot.
Camelot, it seemed, had a generous sky.
It mimicked the grandeur
Of the City of Light.
It mimicked the hope
Of the citizens’ prayer.
It mimicked the charisma
Of the King himself.



What Camelot forgets
is light is easily replaced
by darkness.
The sun grows weary of the sky
Upon nightfall each day.
The stars grow weary of the sky
Upon dawn each day.
The citizens’ eyes grow weary of their citadel’s blinding light.
They ache of too much light and loveliness.
They are blinded
But will see again.
When it’s dark,
When it’s dark.

A city of light; a city of darkness.
Camelot; Camelot
A city of life; a city of death.
Camelot; Camelot.

O’er the moon. And back,
Arthur commands his men.
The Bear and his men march
Into battle.
The sounds of war fill the air
Like light, or darkness.
All swords and shields and nervous breaths and horses’ neighs and battle cries.

O’er the moon, they march.
They march to their death.
Leaving the City of Light behind.
They admire its gleaming walls
Under a sky of silken gold,
Not knowing they’d never see those same walls
Crumble and fall,
Crumble and fall.

© Copyright 2010 M. Rashid (mrash47 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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