The shadow laughs atop the tower
beneath the moon, at the midnight hour,
watching the princess fall fast asleep
under heavy guard, in castle keep.
The raven rises and wheels about,
bringing dreams that make her scream and shout,
clutching sheets as a funeral shroud,
her voice echoing despair aloud.
The guards fetch the king to the tower
and the king comes, says, “My dear flower,
what is the matter that you should cry
when so esteemed, daughter, in my eye? ”
The princess trembles at a chill breeze
and faint laughter, feeling ill at ease.
“Father! O Father! I dreamt a life
bound to the birthing bed of a wife! ”
The king frowns, but begins to pet her,
saying, “I have received a letter
from the prince to whom you have been sworn
since the grim days before you were born.
It is time, now that you are of age,
that wedding vows soothed this blood-feud rage
that has withered heir, heart and harvest
so peace may blossom and prosper, lest
dark days visit again on black wings
and War whet his corvid cravenings. ”
But the princess knows her destined prince,
having met him afore, and her sense
comes in a dance they had as children
at Summer Solstice, his hand chill when
he took hers in it, as was his smile
as they circled, lutes playing while
his eyes stared coldly, and black as coal
and just as soon to flare fierce, his soul
made of hot and cold moods, fire and ice,
every moment a roll of dice
if ice should frost his disdainful speech
or wildfire should burn all within reach —
she had seen him as a dragon prince:
cold-blooded, flame-throated petulance.
“Father, please, I cannot marry him,
for his heart withers both root and stem,
allowing nought to grow but a blight. ”
The king says, “A goodly plow sets right
Eden itself after the Fall, love,
and so you must trust in God above,
or else War will sup eternal yet
as the blood feuds grow…to much regret.
Think of your people, foremost in mind,
and discard all else, as fruit from rind. ”
Then the princess weeps, her lips curling
with bitterness, while black wings go whirling
round and round the star-accursed tower
as a Black Angel round the bower
of the Tree of Knowledge, and the bough
from which the Fruit cursed every brow.
The raven laughs, and the princess cries,
the feathers flap and she seals her eyes
and says, “I know my death comes just so
with the peace our good people may know,
so promise you will do as I wish
and eat a raven upon your dish
a year hence, to this ill-omened night
and each year hence, father, come what might,
for ‘tis death I sup on this hour late
as I waken to a black-winged Fate. ”
She then springs from her bed, flinging forth
from her high window, while to the North
the raven returns to the cold hand
which had bid it fly from that cold land;
messenger and master together
awaiting the storm, the cold weather,
and the feast to come, mingling laughter
for both War and Death, ever after.
Tangleroot And Tressknot 