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For Ellie...

Eleanor Of Aquitaine

Picby Marc Lionhart26 Jan 2014

I'm held tight in a grasp, as when I felt the last gasp rush from me, I was struck dumb
Eleanor, the grace, thrown from the darkest mess and dragged me to a better place to breathe, I couldn't see, dust in my eyes
Had a deep pain in my side, enveloping my mind and ripping through my skin
I had grown weary and thin
Where I was held she healed, I amassed a frivolous grin. Took scrapped paper from the bin for verse.
Couldn't find new words, took em, threw em, they succumbed to the floor as I did
Had beaten my skull to submission trying to conjure a rhyme, found myself without the time to think
I was already on the brink as I sat back and chewed on the thoughts I lacked, ruined by inspiration
But at the duration of failure she came. Held aloft her valiant flame
Her dynasty sang true in lue of the impending doom I witness at the dawn of every full moon
Soon, I would take her hand and smile
if, for only for a short while she would return it, I would quickly learn from it
To guide a queen? Not a task I am fit for. I am the last of my kind, and she the glass of wine a lowly poet holds dear
I may have lost my image I fear, but she comes near and corrects me, "your face is nice" she coos
When I have nothing left to lose
We're proud in a jazz bar now. Of sorts, the music is live and so are we. Our interactions are living poetry
I took the queen to my body and embraced her lips with mine, this time neither of us succumb to the sublime
Instead we relish each other, royalty and bard, while the music is loud and the booze served fast
Each passing thought is hard to process
When we come to part I smile again, knowing she'll reciprocate
Where we go the music follows. It is late
She holds me close some more, and her eyes shine
Firing beams across the chasm between our minds, allowing the bridge to form, we are bonding
Feels like a fork of lightening
Every second that passes feels like a trance I am forbidding myself to wake from, a mask I wish not to take from my face
Aquitaine takes to the streets for parade post-haste, while we hide together, away from the relentless endeavours of the outside world
Safe in our bubble while society outside crumbles
Amidst the rubble conversation stiffens, we are inclined to listen and laugh as one at what mankind has become
I pray a conclusion does not arise to our time, Eleanor of Aquitaine I am yours and you are mine.