To Love a King
I stand at the behest of golden halls
and at the throne thus sits a monarch–
king of Dionysian art and red walls
with tempest-eyes and royal mark.
We all pray at the shrine of our desire–
to rocks and stones we kneel and bow
and grand designs we elevate for fire
and sacred lights that life allows.
But my shrine is not of marble mass
but living and with earthly fury laughs.
thee heathens pray at dead old icons
while I adore my kingly demigod.
My faith is not of brick and mortar,
but a loving declaration; thus,
my prayer is not a quiet melody
but fire on our lips past three.
Call me a fool or call me mad,
but when I see thine eyes, love–
perfect, wondrous, azure-clad–
I drop all pretense or conceal,
and worship how you make me feel.
Plunge on ancient waters, silver plated
And watch the heavenly circus go round
And round in elliptic majesty so fated.
So necessitates the brow to be crowned.
And anointed thus it happily appears,
And lovingly it reads the contract script.
And, under sideral ordinances, we hear
Our attempts to love’s code decrypt.
And then, something sacred thus occurs!
The eyes lock in a happy trance between
Those who surrender then to love and seize
The crown of love for their lovers, so adored.
When I hold your hands and look upon thee lord,
A king for this bard, the tempest–blue I do adore.