Silk

Our Lady

Of

Silk

By

Jerome Brooke

GoodSAMARitan Press  2009

                                 Ador

Ladies of the court, with grace and charm,

                All walk with our Ador.  

Ladies of love, and courtesans of song,

            All these and more.

In robes of gold and red, silk of pale flame,

            Walks our Lady, our maiden fair,

Black eyes flashing fire, burning and cold,

             With circlet of gold, holding dark hair.

Noble knights, with swords of steel and honor,

            Slay and burn.

Spirits of fire, red crosses on fields of white,

            All dance, all turn.

Priests, in robes of white, aged and solemn,

            White hair, marking wisdom,

Listen to music, music of  stars and spheres,

            Wise, in the laws of heaven.

                Procession

Ladies of the court, with grace and charm,

            All walk before.

Ladies of Love, courtesans bold, all walk with her,

            Our Queen, Ador.

Lady of War, Queen of Strife, so cold,

            Use the spear of Fear.

Lady of Love, Queen of Hearts, so pure,

            Slay with words, so dear.

      Crystal Palace

Near the centre, near Saint Peters,

            Stands the crystal palace.

In the palace, near the silver fountain,

            Sleeps our Queen, in lace.

Through halls of gold and bright silver,

            Proceeds our Noble Queen.

Leading her knights and great lords,

            Trailing her robe of green.

Above the black towers, dark clouds gather;

            Red banners wildly toss.

Our Lady of Swords calls, calls out to the ranks,

            Pale Legions of the Lost.

Gates of iron close fast, under blue stars,

            Cohorts of the moon.

Our legions march, with spears, march to death,

            On the morn, so soon.

In her palace of crystal, sleeps our lady,

            Our Victorious Queen.

She speaks the name of one, one in her legion,

            No more to be seen                 

Green Shield

          In blackness stood the tower,

       Built of black stone,

   Among shadows walked,

            Weeping, our lady, alone.

Her warrior bore shield of green,

With dragon gold.

Cry not he said, when last they met,

I shall return.   

                         Knight of the Cross

            For her knight with the Cross of Red, 

                        Fell her precious tears.

            For the crusader, the Green Knight,

                        Were her consuming fears.

            Half a world away, marched the warriors,

                        Crusaders, our Legion.

            In the desolate waste, rode the knight,

                        Marked, as Champion.

            Champion of the True Queen,

                        Knight of the Cross;

            Ride to victory, ride to the fore,

                        Into the mist of the lost.

                            Parapet

            In darkness, in shadows, our Lady turns,

                        Her robes of red burning bright.

            Her noble soul aflame, bright in rage,

                        Her many wrongs cruelly sent.

            Through halls of gold and silver bright,

                        Proceeds our noble Queen.

            Leading her knights and mighty lords,

                        Trailing her robe of red.

             Silk and Steel

Turning, turning, the red token waved,

            Turning in the air.

Hearing the cheers, the High Queen smiled,

            Our Lady once fair.

On his black, brave steed, the knight held high,

            Then set, his iron lance.

His wild, brave horse reared, pawed the dusk,

            Then did proudly dance.

High, high was his heart, high was his lance,

            His cold, iron lance.

Fast, fast was the charge, fast the dance,

            Their reckless dance.

Racing, racing, two iron warriors now rode,              

            Rode, and did clash    

Riding, riding, lances aflame, raced the men,            

            Raced to cut, and slash.

                      Fair Lady

Red, red was the blood of the Emerald Knight,

            Her dying knight.

Red, red were the lips of the queen, fair lady,

            Now in his sight.

Lips of cruelty, lips of fire, lips of love,                  

            Red, red lips.                

Red, red were her claws, red her fangs,                  

            Red at the tips.    

                          Knight of the Cross

            For her knight with the Cross of Red, 

                        Fell her precious tears.

            For the crusader, the Green Knight,

                        Were her consuming fears.

            Half a world away, marched the warriors,

                        Crusaders, our Legion.

            In the desolate waste, rode the knight,

                        Marked, as Champion.

            Champion of the True Queen,

                        Knight of the Cross;

            Ride to victory, ride to the fore,

                        Into the mist of the lost.

                              Rally

            Few against many, betrayed by fate,

                        Our line stood,

            Men covered in robes of burning scarlet,

                        With crimson hood.

            Raiders of the cold, icy North,

                        Did cry out.

            Men of the South heard well,   

                        Well their shout.

            But soon, soon a sweet song rang out, 

                        Bravely, a song of spring.

            In mail of iron, heavy and icy cold,

                        In defiance, a lad did sing.

            Storms dance on high, dark clouds,

                        Do race away,

             Dance of death, men dance merrily,

                        Gladly today.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Raiders saw men who feared not,

                        Not the northern spear.

            Raiders looked at men who held,

                        Mere life, not dear.

C Copyright 2009  - Jerome Brooke