| Dream Journal excepts: | "Doomed King" |
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I, a King,
yea, though not such a one as to wear a jeweled crown
and sit upon a throne. I, more befitting, am a Field King.
-Dressed as the men of my troops,
in the comfortable garb appropriate to fighting in the forests.
-An Irish King, perhaps.
Now it came to pass,
that one of my men foretold of the end of my reign and life,
and the treachery thereof.
I, however, had a prediction of my own,
yet this I proclaimed not for it was the sober premonition
that the assignation would come by his own hand.
In the house (my cottage) and with the woman (I love).
I kept watch until he came to call.
Maintaining a mutual front,
which swiftly became so thin as to become as mutually transparent,
the exchange came to blows.
When now my love cries out in protest
(not so much, me thinks, of the attack,
as of my perception of what she may have felt
was imagined treason from one so trusted).
Alas, when I turn to regard her,
his knife finds its home square in my back.
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