a coveted moonstone secreted by
her corseted bosom, lay against her
heart, her long tendrils fell upon ivory
shoulders, her onyx eyes – challenging.
pulling golden sabre from it’s sheath
making ready to spar for a sacred stone.
the other, his emblazoned breast plate,
glints of a lunar light; raising his sword
for her honour alone, a duel to win her;
she be the prize, she be his true magic
when chalice shall hold their blood,
raised on high victorious, a wench,
beauteous in mystery, love bitten in
a singular glance, shaking her mane
of silken hair, haughty, enticing him
that be privy alone to her favours,
whilst steeds be stepping back in
readiness of the riders call, to the
death, be it moonstone, be it she,
their contest be jousting – taunting
behind a thicket, she slipped in wait
her future on steeds, their mighty
wails of chivalry decreed, keeping
her pride at bay, knowledge that for
him, a coveted stone be the prize,
whilst the other saw only her, a
Bellibone, in her simple perfection.
a silence followed by crackling of
twigs beneath each footfall, breath
quickened; her eyes snapped open
he stood before her, the glint of a
breastplate, his arms extended out
towards her, beckoning, his hand
opened, in his palm a glistening
moonstone; she, pulling out same
blue stone, hidden in her bosom;
held it out to him too, a battle won
for her alone, philotimy was hers,
she forever the victory, she never
be the spoils, beseeching his love
they made haste to each other’s arms,
cling to each other, his low mutterings
“Oh fair one, let me die before you,”
his body falling slowly to the ground,
to lay among the leaves in the thicket;
his moonstone fell at her feet; blue glint
of lunar light reflected in his armour,
a garnet pool forming beneath him;
onyx rained from her eyes, magic lost,
her moon had perished beneath the stars
two moonstones lay betwixt them in the
evening dew, reflecting nothing at all.
© Brenda-Lee Ranta
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Who are you? Are you a brave knight? A warrior brandishing your sword, ready for battle. Are you a dreamer? Away with the fairies, losing count of fireflies whilst searching for Neverland. A goth? Who feels right at home with the monsters hiding under the bed, who loves to dance a dervish with the devil on the stroke of midnight. Or perhaps you are a dragon-slayer? Or a soul snatcher? Basking in the heat of an eternal flame. Or maybe you’re a witch? Hiding deep in the woods, practicing dark arts beneath the light of a full moon.
L.J. Diaz, Author of Catching Snowflakes
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Categories: Anthology
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