Long ago when man was sparse and lust was still a seed,
There came a sign in tempest’s gale, the land began to bleed,
Upon a hill amongst the trees the maker let her be,
The ancient lady, born of thunder, queen of dark decree.
Across the seas she traveled, through mountains rich with gold,
Her soul is just as timeless, her heart as equal bold,
As time passed on the lady knew that soon would come the day,
The flower now it yielded, the lust that lay in wait.
So blood will be shed for the ancient lady,
Droplets of life from the human well,
And deep is the well for she knows there’s no end,
But what of their fate could the fools foretell?
To you she flies now son of Sparta, chosen of the kings,
Encompassed by her glory, you fit her hands with rings,
But cunning Paris, his gift bestowed, swept Helen off to Troy,
And Sparta raged, incensed with loss, so battle they employed.
The heroes armed with sword and spear lay siege with all their might,
While Ares with his sons of wrath shed blood into the night,
The many souls, bereft of flesh, fell deep in Hades’ reign,
The god of death, a friend of war, took joy in all he gained.
So blood will be shed for the ageless specter,
Gushing in streams to an endless sea,
And deep is the sea for she knows there’s no end,
She must find love in Earth’s humanity.
Arthur, king of sword and stone, the spirit of the land,
She comes to you through paths of time to win your honored hand,
With hair in waves of amber fire, and eyes like silver moons,
Became the chosen queen of all, and bringer of your doom.
As love in shame lay waste the realm like flesh of leprosy,
The champion knight who fell to her was lost in passion’s sea,
The land now lay in darkness but the king in ailing might,
Sent seekers for his souls redemption-the holy grail of light.
So blood will be shed for the timeless beauty,
Pouring like tears through a perilous rain,
And rain turns to flood for she knows there’s no end,
When will love find her and end all the pain?
Now distant days have ceded and her paths are now unclear,
But still the lady lingers although now she lives in fear,
Forever sailing tides of time she still stands incomplete,
The harvester of mans’ desire, whose destiny repeats.
The thunder roars in chaos, and lightning tears the skies,
I hear her carriage coming forth through bleak and starless night,
I see in dreams, the storm-wrought daughter, exact her fated toll,
The ancient lady, spanning years, is reaching for my soul.
[Nick Carter, poet and fisherman, lives in Tucson, Arizona.]