Bleh with Barry

Random with a cynical twist of lime.

Vivianne’s Lament

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Aubrey Beardsley [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

My King,

Ages have passed

Since you called me

Last from the cold

Depths of my dreaming


You speak and the

Country trembles.

Might giants whisper

Your name as a

Nightmare to their

Progeny and I hear.


The icy chill of

Air against my

Dark, dank, water-

Logged flesh. My hair

Once the color of the sun, drowned and

Matted, a dirt caked white.


But I hear you and pull

Myself from my aquatic

Slumber. Why can’t I find you,

My ageless King? Has your slumber

On that eternal isle been broken to

Save us? Or are you decayed and broken



I race to look, but the pebbles

Dig into my bare feet

Causing me to spill

Some of that sacred, crimson

Liquor, and  I can’t find you.

But your voice echoes like wind through

Branches, trees, nature itself.


Still, one is willing to bleed for the

Beauty of your tone, if only

I can find you. The trees raise their

Limbs to evangelize to

This heathen goddess, but I heed not

Their actions.


I still feel you and long to

Find you. To feel the calibur of

Your kingly character is my sun.

I turn to its radiance but never feel the

Warmth on my face. Bring me back to

Existence, back to being needed.


My jaundiced and paper-skinned hands

Cling tightly to the Burnished iron, rusting,

But the magic is still there and belongs to

You. It rings with your call but cannot find

Your worthy form.


Please, come back to me.

If you desire, I’ll be your

Lady, always. No matter what

Lance or Lot may attempt to

Spear me.

Written by uncannynerdyguy

September 27, 2011 at 7:29 pm

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