Merlin's Musings

There shines the hilt
bathed in liquid silver,
glimmering under the candid incandescence
of the glorious disc high up in space,
that belittles other glowing specks.

Beneath the hilt
why, there lies the blade,
embedded in scree right till its mid',
thrust into a crag waiting for a hand
that would wield
the sword of stone.

O, from here I perceive
the glistening wink
of a moonstone on its pommel.
I stare mesmerised
as the sluggish moonbeams hide
behind an obscuring veil.
Or was that a cloud?

From my casement atop the tower
tho' the night turns a mercurous grey,
I simply gaze at the sword
as I dream of events foretold.

And tho' I know
the role she will play,
as an enchantress
and to Avalon
him shall she take,
but strongly l feel,
that Morgane is no friend.

And for variety shall I add,
his very first choice shall be bad.
He, I know, shall be obstinate
And shall fail
to espy the simple fact
that a blade is not always mightier than its sheath.

This shall be his very first blunder,
a mistake that shall lead him asunder.
Though I know he shall not listen
for childish pride shall influence his decision,
I think not I shalt resist
For if I do, his mistakes will persist,
as one who learns
does so from mistakes alone.

I know who the chosen is;
for the arrested sword had
only once left her stone prison,
to be returned again before my eyes
by the hand...
of a mere boy!