Celtic

When the moon does rise to cast its silver shadows
Through marble clouds wrought from the smoldering embers of his life,
A Princess sleeps in wakes of solace,
Nestled within the bosom of the heavens majestic embrace.
The Celtic fleece of a maiden fair,
In crimson entanglements drawn from time,
The Princess' eyes closed to her fantasies,
Not to be breached, nor to be told.
With curtains drawn to secure refuge,
As courts of old with facades of stone,
Yet no imprisonment to be endowed,
For the sake of true grace now bestowed.
Through wandering cracks a ray lurks forth,
To counter disharmony on this slate of ease and contentment,
To which one eye would compensate,
And admit a reflection to propagate.
Amidst the doom of existing turmoil,
The Argus presents his shield of proclivity,
Awaiting the glance of known acknowledgment,
His stance never lightening;
His strength never weakening;
His love never faltering.
With the resplendence of a goddess
A smile is cast and met not with reluctance,
But in the shear existence,
And reception of his gaze.
In scarlet bonding, though no flesh laid bare,
The magical embrace of love fulminates
From none but her smile so beautiful, and so impassioned.
In the silent parade of conquests past,
Love, the endangered species, awakens in its font
To rise and flourish amongst misdeeds and trials beset.
Willfully forging a path to lead,
To follow hand in hand,
Side by side,
That which no others can assume;
Taken not for granted, but implanted,
And fed from the breast most admired;
The breast of the wanted.
Ever so right, and ever so wrong;
The risk of the venture is bigger than the two.
That which keeps;
That which feeds;
That which protects;
That which loves,
To be forever known and accepted,
In dignity, respect, and trust.


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