Camelot

In ancient times, young Arthur stood, Above the stubborn stone That held a destiny so good, For one and one alone... Who held the sword within its power Would rule the kingdom well And suddenly, within the hour, That secret it must tell... When Arthur pulled and pushed the sword, He learnt the lesson there, That strength alone is self-assured, A King must show a care... As force is just the start, not all, It's wisdom that each needs And blessed are those who hear its call, Without it, none succeeds... When Merlin played his magic arts With potions and dark spells, His incantations fooled men's hearts With showmanship that sells, The kind that seems salvation's friend, Yet pagan were his ways, Perhaps until his very end When he, the Lord, obeys... Meantime, King Arthur had a dream, A city built with love, Where men were noble not extreme, Still courteous though tough... If peace could blossom like the rose, Men had no cause to fight, No need for men to come to blows, To prove the best or right... Thus Arthur chose his noblemen, His knights who'd won their spurs, With them, he strove for peace to gain, No matter what occurs... While wisdom led him by the hand, His heart and head were one, Such that his fame had crossed the land From dawn to setting sun... But Fate was working in the courts Where justice was dispensed, Such that King Arthur heard reports And he became incensed... A rage then festered in his soul Through infidelity And of his wife he lost control, Despaired eternally... Such is the bond 'twixt man and wife, Let no man come between, Else fear to lose his very life, If he should intervene... When Merlin heard the sorry state, He mourned for Arthur's loss, He wept at this, the twist of Fate, As callous as Christ's cross... The Queen discovered lust cares not For commoner or King, Not even there in Camelot, Could she escape its sting... For like a scorpion's deadly kiss, Was lust the final flaw, That killed a kingdom's wondrous bliss And shook it to the core... Think not, that Camelot was spared The rumours and the sighs, Though many noblemen still cared Despite those that despise... With heads held low, for shame, for grief, Their legend tainted thus, One knight fought on in his belief The Holy Grail heals us... And so he journeyed far and wide, Christ's cup to heal the hurt, Yet who knows if it was supplied? Because the legend's blurred... Some say it was, by grace, in time And Arthur was restored And Camelot endured sublime, Blessed by our Sovereign Lord... Yet others tell of Arthur's death, Excalibur returned And with the parting of his breath, Was Arthur's dream now spurned... But this I know, of all Man's dreams, God's roses truly grow Within the hearts that spurn extremes And yearn for Christ to know... It's not the chalice that can heal, Forgive or mend the mind, It's just God's grace that grants appeal, Atonement, pure and kind... A godly knight can journey lands, His quest may guide him well, Yet only Jesus understands How Heaven saves from Hell... Did Merlin find God's grace at last? Did Lancelot find peace? Did Arthur overcome the past? The legends never cease... Such legends now are all we've got, That's why they're highly prized... Yet Christians wait God's Camelot, The Golden Age of Christ! Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.