Avalon's Gauntlet

Avalon’s Gauntlet

Her King distracted

By battles and realms,

She stole from the castle gates,

Into the rolling mists of Avalon.

 

Searching her gloomy surrounds,

She caught the snorting breath of his steed,

Caught sight of her champion,

Waiting, visor raised, smiling gently.

 

Under his protective gaze,

The day’s icy fingers melted,

A shaft of sunlight framed them,

Anointing them with warmth.

His strong hand raised her,

Drew her close to him,

She unpieced his armour,

Saw his conflicted eyes,

He felt her lonely aching pain.

 

When he kissed her gently,

She drew into him,

And drank with the thirst

Of a parched soul,

After long months in love’s desert.

 

Close as they were,

Longing for time,

They could hear horns,

Calling from the keep;

“Guinevere, duty begs,

Lancelot, to arms!” 

 

She lightly touched his brow,

Not wanting to shed the brief moment,

She could not peel her eyes away

Wanted to breathe him deeply

The moment lingered,

The light faded,

The horns’ call urged,

Insistent.

 

He kissed her once more,

Set her down

With care for his love,

Leaving his heart’s queen,

Waved slowly, smiled sadly,

Rode to the horns,

Carried her burden away.

 

As he folded into the mist,

A chilling wind pierced her.

She stood in the growing rain,

Hiding the tears,

Felt her soul cleave once more.

Copyright Pierre Nunns