Britain – The Royal Octopus

I spoke with stars, I bent the sky,
I taught the stones their song to fly,
I built a kingdom out of dream,
Of shining steel and silver gleam.

I whispered truth in Arthur’s ear,
I shaped his crown, I quelled his fear,
I saw the glory fate had spun,
A kingdom bright beneath the sun.

Yet time is cruel, and vision lies,
For what I saw was his demise.
A throne of light, a land of cheer,
All ended with a bloody spear.

I warned, I begged, I tried to bend,
But nothing stops the woven end.
The Fates had cast their threads so tight,
Not even magic breaks their might.

And love, ah love, my prison made,
A gentle hand, a trust betrayed.
By Nimue’s gaze my will was chained,
My wisdom lost, my voice restrained.

So here I dwell in shadow’s keep,
While heroes fall, and widows weep.
I knew it all, yet could not save,
The king, the land, the hope I gave.

What use is sight, if sight is pain?
To know, to warn, to cry in vain.
I am the prophet none could heed,
A hollow gift, a curse decreed.

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I was his first, his chosen queen,
A Spanish rose, both proud and keen.
Through war and peace, I stood so tall,
Yet bore no son to heed his call.
He cast me off, declared me naught,
But I held firm in what I taught.
A wife, a queen, till my last breath,
No king could steal my soul in death.

A whisper, a shadow, a spark in his eye,
I rose like the sun, I soared to the sky.
Crowned in love, in fate entwined,
Yet fear and envy were close behind.
They called me traitor, a witch, a whore—
A queen with no son is a queen no more.
With trembling grace, I met the sword,
And in my death, I was adored.

I was the quiet, the gentle, the pale,
The one whose love would never fail.
A son I bore, his greatest prize,
Yet paid the price with my own life.
No scandal, whispers, nor disgrace—
Only a memory, a fleeting face.
But if love lasts, then here I stay,
Forever in his heart’s display.

A picture painted, a deal was made,
Yet love was lost before it stayed.
Not fair enough, nor soft, nor sweet,
But wise enough to know defeat.
I left a wife, yet lived as free—
A sister, a friend, content to be.
Better divorced than dead, I say,
And in my peace, I won the day.

Too young, too wild, too full of glee,
Yet what was I but a pawn to be?
A dance, a kiss, a secret sin,
A reckless heart trapped deep within.
I played at love, I lost at last,
My fate sealed quick, my joy was past.
They took my head, but hear my cry—
A girl should live before she dies.

I lived, I learned, I read, I wrote,
I soothed the wounds that time had wrought.
A widow twice before his bed,
And lived to love when he was dead.
A scholar, tutor, wise and free,
A woman more than wife to be.
I fought for faith, for learning’s right,
My words still burn with steady light.

We were more than brides and queens,
More than shadows in his scenes.
We lived, we loved, we stood, we fell,
Yet each of us has tales to tell.
Not Henry’s story, not his alone—
But six bright stars with light our own.

Tag: Britain

Merlin’s Lament

More than Six.