Song of the Seven

(dactylic tetrameter with catalexis)

Dragged from our home with her sorcerous art,
bound by a queen fair of face, black of heart,
carvers of wood forced to burrow and delve,
We are now seven that once had been twelve.

Buried each dawn hewing pitiless ore,
gouging out veins of the hope at our core.
Mining our freedom, hearts weary and numb.
Five stones are standing and seven will come.

Rare as a sunray in mine’s deepest shaft
our treasure was found without pickaxe or craft.
Child of the king, hunted straight to our door.
Seven bid welcome, though five speak no more.

Skin white as snow, raven tresses so sleek,
cherry stained lips that no falsehood would speak.
Sworn to her service, we willingly tread,
seven beside her and five gone ahead.

Sweeter by far than the fruit that she ate
lured in by pity, and poisoned with hate.
Sprawled in abandon, false innocent sleep.
Five mourn in silence and seven still weep.

Snowy white silk cradles blossom-crowned head,
freedom’s last hope trapped in pine-bowered bed.
With iron shod heart and on sorrow bent knee,
twelve here keep vigil, though seven you see.

***

Carrie L. Clickard is an internationally published author and poet. In addition to her award-winning children’s books, Carrie’s poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies, journals and ezines including Zoetic Press, Myriad Lands, Defenestration, Light, Poet’s Haven, Enchanted Conversations and Underneath the Juniper Tree. For more information please visit http://www.clclickard.com.