“Knight and noble lie around him.” You’ve made your bed, to lie in. So lie in it. And don’t lie to me.
For a minute I believed You had rosary beads: A wooden sphere for each little sin. Better add a new one to the string. But light just got the better of me – A cruelly shaded illusion of hollow absolution In the marzipan folds of your unmade sheets.
Could you shroud me in Chivalry?
Words, words, words. Just another one to hang off your belt loop like a cheap keepsake, A keychain someone brought back to you from their holiday away.
But would you walk barefoot across the world just to make me stay?
I dare you.
Crawl down into Hell On spent cartridge eggshells, Across a desert where your petty flatteries condense, And you collect declarations like life-giving epithets Dripping into the chalice you keep heart-hidden, and brimming.
You could drink from it any day.
So excuse me if I don’t say What you’ve heard a thousand times before From mouths that aren’t mine. I’m sorry sir, Your armour doesn’t shine – Not anymore.
So when the sand scratches your knees And to bleed is too far from what you wanted to feel Stand up again – Stand and be a man, eh? Too far from home. Dust off the bone dust. Skin lacerated by a promise unkept. Unkempt.
I was painting this city with the hues of our living memories – And I could tell you how much that meant to me; But my words would be watered down By the tides of others And then repainting a whole town With diluted colours Is ultimately a thankless task.
So don’t ask.
I won’t speak in monochrome.
You’d ride the White Horse but your amour is rusted: It tarnished in the air of your graces, Throwing cracked marble faces Into an orrery of perpetual suspension.
(But in the interest of heliocentrism, You’re not the goddamn Sun).
Your chain mail is knitted with antiquated morals Of where you place right and wrong. So if a White Ant crawled through the chink in your visage He’s find your foundations are already long gone.
Walk. Walk. Don’t walk. “Get down and come to me. Your knees bend easier, don’t they?”
So hang up the hatchment. A crest of Nobility
Broken.
© Georgina Barley 2016