A Scribe's Revenge

Nathan Capps © 2008

Awake, queen, awake! Death would meet face to face
and with lover's arms gather your soul;
Forsake your pierced flesh to the fathoms and teeth
and barter old Charon his toll.

The black iron womb raged a full forty nights
full ablaze in its furious heat
Birthing this virgin blade; of pure silver coin made,
its fate and your own nigh to meet.

My pram suckles still at the silvery dune and
deeply dreams of the cavernous waves
And while they drift in I'll disrobe the dark sin
that allots these cold banks for your grave.

Years I arose lit by starlight and shade;
gelding manhood to slave at your throne.
Deserting dear dreams and deserting dear dreaming
and deserting most all that I'd known.

I stole not a moment, no discord ever sung;
your commands were my singular hymn.
At your pyre I mounded my humble tithe high
and prayed respite from your poisonous whims.

But your soul to compassion was barren, O queen,
from your wrath was no shade I could make.
The Old Worm had ensnared your heart's squalid domain,
and it's there spiteful purchase I'll take.

On the altar now breaks your betrothal embrace
but no man has put spurs to the sea.
Yet the pale lurching hide of the nearing white tide
will lend ears to no poor staying plea.

To a dagger's point now will your heart be a tomb!
With a plunge shall this blade be unborn!
To sleep now, O queen, to that seamless black dream
where Death's sky you'll forever adorn.

I will down the Abyss to your slow days in Hell!
Many lives may you therein abide!
Godspeed mortal flesh to its fated decay,
peal the Boatman's bell's song on the tide.

My roused boat shuffles stained sand from its planks
and slips alight to the frigid blue sea.
As the fine silver blade; a fine vengeance has made;
and a warm scabbard's found within thee.