Sleeping Beauty

She hides her face in restless sleep,
uneasy dreams haunt her thoughts.
Her prince still fights outside the keep
to make it to his love long lost.
Inside only mice would dare to peek
into empty rooms and shadowed halls.

The dragon steps forward to block his way;
the prince draws shiny stainless steel.
a lunge, a parry, a horse's neigh
and a dragon's last dying squeal.
Only a few obstacles between them lay,
and then at last a chance to heal.

He comes upon a wall of thorns
too high to climb, too thick to pass.
Again he draws the weapon bourne
through such a tragic, strife-filled past.
Moments of which innocents mourn,
and victims who could not fight the last.

The sword strikes upon the tangled vine,
and magic makes it heavy with rust.
The thorns mark skin dirty with grime.
Gone his chance to do what he must,
and drunk with poison, he feels his time.
Another corpse lies in the dust.