A Mandrake's Gesture

There upon the blasphemous
grassy knoll, a maiden,
her lovers' temptations
of the past.
Amidst a silky
silhouette, a dainty stroll
flaunting a crimson masquerade.

"Your invitations of subtle romance,
be they adventurous, unfulfilled,
shall we not exchange vespers?"

The angel Azriel passioned. . .
A soft Belial did exchange. . . .

"Perchance your suggestion faint,
a slight hint at curiosity?"
"Pray you Belial, mystery for the
whimsy, my gentle romance."

The maiden's eyes began to twinkle
slightly, a hint of passion.
The fullness of her bosom
so exquisite and so
tame, she patted herself
on the thigh, exquisitely, softly.
She would listen to the
rhythms of her heart and
praise the moon. . . .

"Azriel your infinite
sensuality is perplexing,
an embrace to the musers
of sophistication."
"Belial. . . are you true?"
"Always, of the most
royalties in shadow."

Belial's vehemence was like
a steady rhapsody-
a melody to the songs
and essences of the
crying angels, his interests
in this courtship affair
piqued, unbeknownst,
foreboding.
A howling wolf nurtured
his wanton's decree.

"May there be no
misgivings between
us. Our romance a flounder,
this time upon a dreary
meadow, passions of the
blooming Spring."
"The maturity of the
season burgeoning as
a goddess basking
in the twilight."
"Belial, amidst your
presence, your magical
enthralls, I am
a virgin of chaotic
confines, an orchestrating
phatasmagoria, bellowing
echoes of innocence."
"Where'st upon your
throne of pride, do
you betake such ambience
and cunning?"
"Another courtship, another
attempt at fate,
falling away with thee,
embracing your sacred
art of serpent
masochism."

Her lips very supple,
very appealing, she
was a cupid to
Belial's delight. . . .
The Dragon emulated
its horrorific
delight,
the trees began to sway
as howling winds
enveloped.
A nightbird swooped,
like a predatorial
owl, scornful wisdom,
a galliant interlude.
The moonlight shown
through, revealing
the shadows of
a saga of melancholy
and the wicked
kingdom.
The angels gently
opposed their own virtue.
Cascading glances of
despair and burdening
lusts erupted within
Azriel and Belial. . . befallen.
The cries of passion
were softly felt, hence,
a lovers' quartet of
silent lucidity.
A beseeching cry of lechery,
portented gayly,
Azriel gave way
to Belial's surmise.

"She will suffer. . ."

The maiden's nipples
swollen, her bosom
flush with excitement,
hailing her goddess as
she slighted very
eloquently, puissant.
The goodness they
shared was of sinful
reproach, a somber
obedience of lovers'
admiration.
The dusk laden sky
flickered with prose,
the sorrows of
Belial's romance of lost
mysteries and his
vengeant domineer,
his bravado, his
masculinity, cascading
like spirals of chaos
and the chimes of
instilled darkness
climaxing to the
sojourn of forbidden
pleasures.
Gently now,
Belial eased this
fair lady to her lover's
demand, her patience
swelling between her
thighs, burning. . .
eternally.
- - - -
I.
Awoken from a dream,
a fair common was she,
her beauty unsurpassed
only by her soulful
demeanor and natural
prelude. Her femininity
and subtle prowess
always the victor,
her passion a hearkening
rose upon a lonely
desolate scorn. Her
feelings a bit feverish,
there now, nothingness
and the harlots of
misery and the massacre
of saintliness. The venom
there pulsing now,
was evermore raspy,
and only to the
delight of our royal
antiquities, vespers
of envy, of anger's delight,
of beckoning glee, a
madman's exuberation to
the deafening hysterias
of mischief's vertigo.

A marriage. . .
arranged, a stiffening
King to his Prince's
triumph over darkness.
Yes, this common peasant
and her divine bounty
was as a peril of Eve
searching for her lost
Eden.
There being no more
reprise, bitter, for her
burden, she was to share.
Somber eyes and
a broom for everyone
to take hold. Yes, the
beauty of a fair maiden
this, so vast and of
such masterful drab,
splendor to all of
the shared treasures
in spirits.

Rage!
A taunting basilisk,
enslaying our vat of
christendom and devotion.
To this day, of prayerful
morn, maiden Geinere,
awoke, scarlet fever.
- - - -
To the gardens. . . of celebration!
- - - -
As the birds chirped,
the sunlit golden,
the merry cries of
glee, for upon this
day a proclamation
of love ever-after. Though
ne'er yet had the
splendor been sighted,
jestered by many a perchance
of foolish folly,
a fellowship to the King.
Unbeknownst, a
yield to the forbiddance
of Hecate's personification
and a dire love of
familiar waft.

"For thee, upon the
hour of striking,
our quartet, profound,
still-born, the
forfeiture lag, our
gentile courtship,"
a voice of princely charm
did vesper.
"Taken aback, my
blossoming serenity,
tears of burden and
crying shame, the
kingdom and its
dungeon," Geinere's
essence declared.
"What'st thou speak of?"
The sentiments of a
conceited King.

Geinere, her mind
ailing, fever and
nausea coarsened
her. Sorrowful
thoughts of arrogance
and its unquenching
tale. Tragedies and
the grievances there
upon, for whom so
yet to embark.
Tears began to
stream down poor
Geinere's flush cheeks.
Her soul tarnished
amidst the excitement
of triumph and the
beckoning woes of
peasant parry royalty.
This dreadful day
lacking of divinity.
For there no poorer
game of betrayal
and scarred virtue,
than this sorrowful eve. . .
of bitter scorn,
and hateful deceit.

For a night
of beggar's delight,
the handsome prince
Alarumdives, maiden
Geinere, and a celebration
aye the more kisses
pricked ne'er a secret
scurvy. Hence,
a hidden barbaso,
royalty betaking an
ensigns way of lechery
to those of lower
chaste, welcoming a
jarrago of arousal,
silence. . . mischievous
silence, hastened only
by a King made bitter.
For his son's charm
and admiration, he
would pronounce his
demand for respect.
For surest upkeep his
pride and majesty,
an undertaking of
bane, as the waves
of splendor, owe.

Yes, there were certain
majesties, which
in all regards are
to be expected.
For upon the engagements
of husband and wife,
Prince and Princess,
to marry, there is
an exaltation, thought
the King guilefully.
As his snickered brow
advanced the courtyard's
jester, feelings of such
gay undertakings flickered.
Prince Alarumdives, pray
due, rose to the
occasion, for the unseen
essence of Typhon
present, the crowd
gathered in celebration.
The announcement of
marriage and its unition
of peasant maiden to royalty,
the ferocious feast
of joy. Geinere
so happily embraced
her handsome prince,
the happiness of occasion
now unhoused. Wine
and spirits for many,
the festive event ushered
well far into the
late eve.
As the night matured
the King blew pompous,
his dirty torch,
a request desired
upon the scattering
leets, close dilations,
wary now, for there
were humors of
closed quarters.
Ill thoughts befell
the King, for maiden,
selfish desires,
crusadoes.

"Dear Geinere, a
moment. . . jealousy!"
The king spoke.
"Yes, sire pardon?"
"Firstly, most dear,
your love for our
Prince, be it subtle,
erasing the inscriptions
of royalty, not taken."
"My love so true, for our
beloved Gods one in
communion, here or
hence. Pray due
your acceptance,
for not, pride your
welfare, which I
grossly offer it."
"Behold!
Though a gracious
ward, admiration I
do embrace, for you
a gift of repentance,
may the spirits of
this eve, bate me,
as I am dishonest."
"Nicely, my merry
King, I am better
pleased now this
new fashion."
"Very well, Geinere,
to my quarters,
parry this precious
gift of offering."
"My lord, I am
indebted happily."
"Follow my deliberation."
- - - -
The King's Quarters
- - - -
Upon entrance, the
chambers of the loyal
King, made dusty, the
air murky, cold with
evil and its hushing
silences. The royalty
ushered a bickering
lear upholding its
mighty charter.

"A baffle, rising Queen,
for cozening upon the
vizards of this unlawful
masquerade. For our
differences made certain
upon this eve,
I will find your
worthiness to become heir,
faulted," the King rang
out like the blazening
fires of the Seraphic
order.

Geinere's frailty
was that of an abandoned
child, lost in the world.
Her hurt was so that
of anguish and desperation,
her heart burdened by
his hateful words.
His domineerance, his
drunken righteousness,
protruding as a writ
man. A careful prodigy
was he, as his stupor
conceited to arousal
and a display of power.

"Geinere, calm thee now.
Closer, though not
as baffled, as I, for
you are in dear service,
fulfilling thee! Serve
your King graciously."
"My lord, pray thee no. . . ."
"Our bitter wench felt,
be this night, hence everafter,
I make thee worthy, art
the entail."

Tears erupted from poor Geinere.
Her soul departing as the
King's demands advanced.
Her innocence and essence
robbed of her, cheated now always,
a sullen amort. Her woes,
her unheard cries, her
tender virginity taken
from her, now left mad,
sadness and melancholy,
would be her muse.
Pain,
agonizing sorrow,
though unrightly welcomed.
For upon this eve of
tyranny and degradation
a seed of humility was
planted with no roots
of nurturance. The
passion shed would remain
a scar upon the royalties
of a forgotten King
and instill a harlotry
of peasant virtue upon
the dear maiden
and this dire kingdom.
As Geinere unwillingly
embraced the bastardly
disobedience of the
King and his dark
vespers of misery, her
turmoil greatened,
her flower taken,
her essence floundered.
The act maliciously foresaken.

"Oh angels, plentiful,"
chimed the King,
his behemoth of
propriety and lust
now ripe with vigor.
"In thy hopes of your goodwill,
overpowered, as vassal
actress, a call for
repeal."
"Begone Geinere!
Out of my chamber,
accusations found,
for I am certain, upon
your unwanted fulfillment
of matrimony. A
gift of guilt for you
hereafter!"
The night faded
as a moon blush tainted,
fell from the heavens.
----
Nowhere now, Geinere
awaited her day of
unrightly judgment,
her only hopes of
victory brought thoughts
of remorse and
further difficulties
for herself and her dying
love. No embrace
could be made.
Her silence would
remain, for accusations
of such made, was
sure death for thee.
Her soul became
fierce, conjuring
redemption for this
instillment, a fall from grace,
her skillful prowess,
her warrior bringing
forth chaos. Lightning
crashed as the tumults
of her Goddess'
vengeance squalled
from the uproarious
heavenly sky.

"These leperous times of
love's decay, porches
of word, betrayed.
May our devotion
sate our divine
qualm, a subtle
devil delays, for
biddings may take
afar. Be it region
my fate, due your
rank and garb. For
thee upon a graceful
whim, perchance pray, your
folly for your conceit
and vindication.
My reputation banished
into the fathoms of a
conceivable Hell,
this lifetime.
These thoughtless
lusts, be it not perverse,
unholy absolute!"
Tears of silence beckoned
the oncoming storm,
a prelude to the
saga of love made
true, dire consequences
of chaste and grim
truth.
- - - -
The next morn. . .
- - - -
"Geinere, my new
found love, your
beauty and essence
of the divine.
Can'st be so
familiar, for the task
of royalty, a tragic
array of misgivings
found." Prince Alarumdives
spoke ever-softly, akin
to the King's arrogance, though
ignorant of his wicked deeds,
this past eve.
"My Prince?"
"What'st my father
demand, for your saddened
face, this morn?"
"He has foresaken you
my love, our marriage
troubled, his grievances."
"I see my love."
"I am sorry if our
unition burden
your reputation, be it
not true, for a taint
crimson mine to yours
and your own."
"No Geinere, you know
my love for you, the
deepest perils of valor.
You are my passion,
my grace, my spirit's
nestle. My love for you
Geinere, the fullest,
a garden of blossoming
joy, yours and mine.
Happiness take'st with
thee, goodness and
romance's virtue."
"My Prince. . . ."
Her eyes welling
tears, her pain her
bare."
"My Geinere, tomorrow
yours true, for thee to
wed, our grace and
passion fulfilled,
the kingdom royal
renewed."
"Yes my Prince,
pray our vows, not
to become shrewd.
May my Goddess, now
Christom, strengthen
my soul."
"Geinere, what'st that
troubles you, may I
ask?"
"I am at no mercy,
let us parry this,
yours made true,
may your father's
blessing bestowed not
compromise a
spiteful discourse. . . ."

There upon the courtship,
proclaimed, a sorrowful
spirit hearkened upon
this ballad of misery
and burden. For her
grief and unrelished
despair, the angels
of Michael, our saintly divine,
answered, whil'st upon
the hour of marriage royal,
an unwanted surprise,
a battle declared, as the
essence of Faith
exuberated.
This day of celebration,
joyous, the sun's vibrance
a galliant shiny array
of angelic symphony.
The court's jester prepared
daintfully as the council
gathered for the wedding
and celebration.
Crowds upon crowds
of commons and
majestic royals gathered
in anticipation, for
a marriage vow of
royal to peasant a
spleen for gossip.
Geinere's beauty and spirit
made so ever-beautiful
and bountiful, her Magdalenic
passion, though hidden
from the stage, her garden
of love like no other
Atlantis. This ballad
of acceptance Cherubic
as the maiden Geinere
was given away. The
gathered pupils from
near and far, sighted
tears of admiration
and also of disbelief.

The King. . . his pious
disobediences, very kept
subtle, for betrayal's
embrace, here to far,
loomed as an ominous
hawk awaits its
swoop. As the candles
of the holy triad were
lit, joyous spirit
and unition embarked,
as tragedy did fall upon
this royal majestic whim.
A messenger, grief
stricken, hence
matters slowly, a
voice to the King.

"My King, this glorious
day made tragic,
for our kingdom under seige
soon, a chance to the North."
"Speakest thou, this
action made, a declaration
of war, for no mercies
we have, can'st determine
our strategic foe."
The King's voice grave with
anger and unsuspected
turmoil. A call to the
Prince, oh the mighty
heavens did begin to
crash. Bolts of resilience
and vigor shot from
the oncoming enthralls
of vengeance.
"Messenger, retrieve
the preparations, summon
forth our army at
once. My son!"
Trumpets blew, as
alarm and anxiety
did ensue, instilling
paramount fear, though
only matched by the
mighty holds of fate.
"My Prince, calmest be,
our sudden birth of
unknowing, pray we share
our time spent precious,
for a call to arms for
certain." Geinere, her demeanor
shaken, her Goddess crying
out as the premonitions
of glorious battle, and dying
victory echoed throughout.
"My love, I regret these
tragic circumstances,
our labors, pray not
lost to this ardorous
hell that has come upon us."
The king speaking,
"my Prince, my son, I will
await these temptations of
Belial, ever so gracefully
with the fullest respects,
yours to mine."

Madness exuded like the
war cries of epic battles
and sagas' past,
the myth of man and
the passionate woman.
As the eruption
began to procure its
preparations, Prince Alarumdives,
a moment with the King,
solace, questioning divinity.
"My father, what troubles
plague us? The trumpets
do sound, do us not, impede
decision, for moment's wisdom,
pray we gather and bring
forth a judgement non-grievous."
"Alarumdives, Alarumdives. . .
why we struggle; and endure,
our precious privy, our passion,
our victorious role, a
maddening hysteria,
turmoil, envy? Malice?
These perilous endeavors
that this kingdom, rightly
now, yours and mine,
forevermore, must uphold,
boldly, righteously, justice
and its decree."
"Father, this constance,
unhappy we, if respect
is compromised, be it for
balance, ignorance I
plead, for precious love,
my Geinere. . . ."
"Alarumdives, your wisdom
exceeds you, a gentle
harmony passed. Be it
sincere, your declarations
to cherish, this unition
of marriage, not as
virtue, for loves' royal
to the commons, not.
Can'st be, your labors,
this battle staging as
war closely approaches,
a test, shall worthy
proven, joy then."
"My father, this Luciferus
impediment, a call to
arms, due parry peasant
royalty. A falling star,
my mercies upon, this
calling of crusade, of
scarlet tides of Eden's
embrace, goodness surely
redeemed. As graceful knight,
I embark, these ardors
of dire tragedies, kingdoms
indifferent, be it of ill-virtue,
of ill-decree? May the spirits
that beckon bring forth
victory."
"Alarumdives, much needful
preparation, call'st to
arms, for the galleys
of this kingdom bulging
with cannon. I am to
the balcon to esquire,
gather, hence I salute."
"The masterful sounding of
the ram's horn, a call
to bravery!"

The hills of high, there
did stand, a large
platoon, the flags of
Scotland, a summoning
to port Wales. Torches
afire, blazening with
the perils of passion
and vixen angelic.
Viewing from afar, a
messenger apart, battle
today, no question.
As both tides
prepared for climax,
the gallians, sure
mighty, though as
the Gods did pray,
only a taste, hints
of nothing more.
The horns did exude,
and battle, that
erupted, was as
the raging winds
of Tyr. . . .

"For the mighty woes
of our desperation,
our much need'd embark,
an appraisal of
valor. I must
lead this army
to uphold virtue."
Prince Alarumdives
strode upon, seeking
the contempt of his
desires. The King and
his bastard portrayal,
left feelings of emptiness,
though closed.
Upon awaiting the
outcome of this
mighty showing, he
did bring forth
the maiden, Geinere.
"Your blasphemies supposed,
confuse me woman.
Conjurer of elementals,
this sudden mise of
war. How you? How
you Geinere?"
"A dove's cry, a
looming hawk, nowhere
to be found, this
bit of fear, for your
filth and dishonor,
I will concede.
I am at no mercy
for you, this meditation
of murder and failing
innocence. . . ."

II.
For the tempest
and its accusal.
The portrayal at
no delay. Be it
sorrowful, melancholic,
poor Geinere, her
burgeoning grave,
the king's declaration.

"Poorest dear, the
gleeful glances you will,
appreach'd of lechery,
this wise King fallen
upon."
""These battles brought
upon this kingdom
from afar. . . the Gods,
surely their vengeance
for this decadence
and disgrace!" Geinere
spoke with Venusian
flame.
"You, oh glorious
you Geinere,
debauched, acts
of such mindful
lusts, betrayal, a
moment's freedom
no more, imprisonment,
mischievous!"

To no delay,
Geinere, under way.
For the mournful
maiden, the deceitful
treachery, so falsely
accused, this bitter
resolution, patience
her virtue.
Geinere, speaking
sharply as her pride
erupted, questioning
the royalty she was
to respect and admire.

"Why, why this unfathomable
beast, and its deafening
capture, the hypocrisy
and its right, falling
from grace, may there
be victory, for my
Prince and his love.
The Gods, I do ask,
betaking repentance,
this kingdom of Martyr!"

It was of such
sorrowful decree,
these woes of
trust and battles.
Months passed, though
only a few, for
upon this span of
chaos, the King's
grief, strickened more.
Pregnancy. . . a bastard
child! Poorest maiden
Geinere, her violation
by the King, the
treacherous King.
Whil'st amidst the
foul passions of
the Luciferus,
guilt crept in and
upon the majesties.
Geinere's time spent
in confinement, the
guilt being nourished
within her womb,
tears, bloody tears
during this melancholy.
What could she do,
for the truth spoken
would just yield more
pain and suffering.
She would have
to wait to meet
her Prince, if she
could even muster
the strength of
confrontation. How
could she prove,
how could she derive
justice? Her hopes
of triumph wilting
as the days passed.
This doom of
mutual closure.
Only glimmering
for the poor maiden
was news of victory
on the fields of
blood and barter,
perhaps now a
moment with Alarumdives.
She prayed he would
find mercy and
compassion and
believe her words.
Poor Geinere,
the illness of the
Raven and hereafter.

III.
The months that
followed, contend
no mightier Phoenix.
For upon her last
leg of pregnancy,
her love revisited.

"Geinere. . . my beloved,
how these happenings
of such blasphemy,
for your acts, surely
the inferno from
the north.
"I cannot allow this
dishonor and shame
any longer.
To you Alarumdives
the truth be spoken."
"I will listen to your
words with loyalty
and consternation, if you
will."
"My Prince. . . my dearest
Prince, the tragedy I
am about to share,
with much guile.
For it was upon the
night of our proclamation
and embrace of marriage
that the poisons
did intrude my womb."
"Geinere, I do not
understand, for
our courtship
was of much
duration, that day
of proclamation filled
with much awe and celebration."
"Alarumdives. . . your father. . . ."
"Yes, Geinere, I know
he did not approve,
for his heritage and
traditions, this
vow, yours and mine,
a bit trite."
"Alarumdives, upon
entrance into the
King's quarters,
the gift of welfare,
a violation of my purity,
my virginity was taken."

Tears now, streaming. . .

"Geinere, your words
striking me like
the intensest of
swords, how can you
accuse?"
"My Prince, our love
lost now, be it true,
or false, my words.
I understand your
unwillingness to
believe in thy,
but please, if at no
cost to your pride
and this kingdom's,
please grant me freedom,
may the Gods answer
my prayers."
"Geinere. . . I will
grant you your freedom,
but I cannot be
with thee. For this
tragedy of doubt."
"Alarumdives, surely
a redemption, I
proclaim my sovereignty
from your father's malice,
a cowardice of reason."
"Geinere, my love for
you has not faultered,
though these circumstances
of such, I cannot fathom.
The truth I seek in you,
patience and faith,
reverence be."
"This tragedy there upon us,
may you bestow upon me
any bit of pride, this
endurance of humiliation
I cannot, please. . .
Alarumdives, your
worthiness, your chivalry,
I am so lost, an explanation
for this disgraceful act,
Nero."
"Take shelter this eve
with the merchant
guards, found upon
the merry courts
of the south-western
district. Upon your
arrival, they will send
a messenger to inform thy,
your dire needs for
labor. Assistance and
comfort will be
offered and in secret,
for the King. . . I am
grievous. . . usher you
ill-sorrows if discovered."

Alarumdives, the troubled
Prince of compassion, met
his love, eye to eye, sharing
tears, they did embrace.
"Geinere you must
leave Wales upon, I
am sorry."
"Alarumdives, I am so,
so sorry. . . ."

As Geinere found
refuge her labors
came quickly, within
days. The merry merchant
guards, at no delay, jestered
and provided for a
midwife to aid Geinere.
Amidst the burdenous
nurturance, a gentle
baby boy was brought into
this dark world of hate
and envy. Geinere
vowed to herself
to love this dear child.
A world torn apart,
hers to divinity and
righteousness.
His name Adam,
rightly chosen
out of sin,
for the essence of
God did answer
poor Geinere's demands
for redemption.
For it was upon
the child's first
birthday, that Geinere
was enlightened and
faith instilled.
A parchment read
while living amongst
the commons of great
Scotland,

". . . the Prince Alarumdives,
now King of Wales, to celebrate
his one year reunion and
exaltation to the kingdom
of thine, glorious Wales."
As this bit of revelry
chimed within Geinere's
soul, she discovered upon
inquiry, that the late
King of Wales had fallen
ill and to his grave,
one year prior. . . .

© 2005 Trevor Morse

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