FROM CAMELOT’S CRADLE

By the staccato count of three

The round table’s highest chair was toppled

And left crying the lonely child within us all.

Through the years of bereavement

The martyred king’s progeny

Was canopied from the glare of relative idolatry.

Soon the arbiters of myth

Began to unmask the beguilement of a legend

After peeling away their sentiment

They found the throne’s heir to be a hypnotic foil.

 Always portraying graceful humility

To the delight of his future subjects

The kingmakers’ prince reflected expectation

That he was the anointed one.

After helplessly watching its brightest day fall

Below and before the distant horizon

Where the haze of bravado blinded wisdom’s virtue

God plucked his star from the sea of tears.

After cradling the nation’s sun

The Lord placed this gentle flame in the eternal house of light

Now our aching memory has become a lamp

To light the night and our journey towards heaven’s shore.