Love's Domain
Like the glorious oak against which
I lean, all around me seems enduring,
perennial. Cast in an eternal mold,
reality is unwavering; a companionable
cloak of sameness and comfort. The very
earth beneath my feet the stuff of
wealth and endless providence.
Such reveries spring easily to mind
but now are just as quickly dashed.
Armored in self love and the arrogance
of privilege, I can gaze upon all I survey
and know my worth. Within the scratch
of my quill is wrought the fate of all who
call me "lord." My whim is as law, my
countenance the maker of joy or the
wrath of kings. Such grace is known by
few and wielded by fewer still. It is the
measure of greatness and the strength
of will. And it is all but dry as dust,
empty as the Reaper's heart, and colder
than oblivion when compared to my
lover's smile.
Not the crops in my field, the gold in
my tower, nor all the armies of god can
rest my soul from the enchantments of
one woman's devices. I who am a pillar
of the king, a man of august family, and
first before many am laid bare to my
soul. Bereft of any artifice of self
defense, I am bewitched, ensnared,
ensorcelled. Like a dear in the
woods, I am roundly chased, caught,
and trussed. I am served to her mercy.
Like the glorious oak against which
I lean, all around me seems enduring,
perennial. Cast in an eternal mold,
reality is unwavering; a companionable
cloak of sameness and comfort. The very
earth beneath my feet the stuff of
wealth and endless providence.
Such reveries spring easily to mind
but now are just as quickly dashed.
Armored in self love and the arrogance
of privilege, I can gaze upon all I survey
and know my worth. Within the scratch
of my quill is wrought the fate of all who
call me "lord." My whim is as law, my
countenance the maker of joy or the
wrath of kings. Such grace is known by
few and wielded by fewer still. It is the
measure of greatness and the strength
of will. And it is all but dry as dust,
empty as the Reaper's heart, and colder
than oblivion when compared to my
lover's smile.
Not the crops in my field, the gold in
my tower, nor all the armies of god can
rest my soul from the enchantments of
one woman's devices. I who am a pillar
of the king, a man of august family, and
first before many am laid bare to my
soul. Bereft of any artifice of self
defense, I am bewitched, ensnared,
ensorcelled. Like a dear in the
woods, I am roundly chased, caught,
and trussed. I am served to her mercy.
All is as if it has never been. No wealth
is there but the red-gold in her hair. No breeze
but in her passing, no air to breathe but in
her kiss, and no light to see but for the
glow in her face. What suppleness of wit
remains I can but spend in thought of her.
And then…and then there is borne upon
some gentle laughing zephyr the scent of
her; and all of me is again become stupid,
and senseless.
What wicked wiles contrive to bind the
will, charm the mind, and entangle hearts?
Where from comes such grace to wrack my
being? For she has made me hers as surely
as the sun seeks the sea and the moon
the heavens. No more in me is there strength
to pause or will to wonder why. What gifts
I can bestow, what wealth I can command,
and what wonders I can muster are hers.
Her being will be my light, her heart my
riches, and her love the house of my life.
