How now dark emissary?
Why dost thou come to light upon
my window sill
at this late hour?

Dost thou bring a remembrance
of My Lady?
Perhaps an ebony quill from thy
Upon which she has whispered
the names she has given me
since I first came to be in Her service?

Shall I dip it into this crimson ink
and write of the days long past?

How now avian mortician?
Thou wilt understand I am of yet
no feast for you or thine kin?
I see by the puzzled cock of your feathered head
that your ears, hidden behind their dusky cowl
do not hear that which should be within my chest.

I tell thee
Thou art not mistaken
There is no rumble of thunder there
When I came to this place
My own heart I plucked out
and divided it into many pieces
For trusting not in my own will
to protect so fragile a charge
I felt it better to shatter it
and place the pieces as far from my clumsy hands
as I might

Ever Since
I had hands to crawl upon
I gave it away
shard by shard
placed into the warm embrace
of hands that were willing to see it safe

and each time I offered it
I closed the hand that took it
and pushing their fist against their own breast
I asked the soul to look after it
as if it were their own

How now dusky Vicar?
It is true
I have heard the throaty bark
of thy sermon
beyond this very window
in the waning hours of the evening
when the mist lies heavy upon the meadow

And I will heed your good word
as I am a faithful parishioner
of the old faith
And thou hast heard many
a final confession
thou hast heard many final words
and pleas
with thy black head bowed in contemplation
until such time as thou art unable
to contain thy ravenous hunger
then like the executioner
You climb down from the gallows
To gather your payment
to sup upon the bounty
before you

Being thou a beast
thou dost know what it is
to be mortal

To be mortal is to be in pain

So winged messenger
take these words back to Our Queen
for only your wings
can breach the veil

Tell Her
Though I am cast from Her kingdom
and I am trapped within this realm
I serve Her still

That wherever I roam
one knee is always bent to Her

That whenever I pen Her name
it sets the paper aflame

That whenever I speak
She is forthright in my mind

Until such time I shall walk again
With Her
Under the White Birch trees

Tell Her
The first words upon my lips at dawn
and the last words upon my lips at dusk
will always be

Vivat Regina


About Eric

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23 Responses to Emissary…

  1. Oh brilliant! What a tale you have spun. Vivat Regina. ❤❤❤

  2. Eric says:

    Thank you, Beautiful ❤

  3. Emily says:

    I love your stories. Such powerful writing. ❤

  4. Meg Sorick says:

    I adore this Sir Eric! Was it a crow that King Arthur was turned into? I swear I was just reading that or ‘seeing’ that somewhere… Perhaps you are being summoned as knight to the Round Table! A worthy position for one such as yourself: Lancelot and Guinivere as your Regina. ❤

  5. psaintsmith says:

  6. Purpleanais says:

    It is a tale worthy of the old legends, and is there any better way of preparing for sleep than feasting on this? I think not 💜

  7. I really like the way this flows together. It has a nice Shakespearean feel to it that adds a timeless feel. I’m glad I stumbled across you through the lovely Candice! 😊

  8. Chrissy says:

    Lovely creation reminds me of the great Romantics.

  9. I’m going to have to photograph this 1980s fantastic skylark version I have for you, the art is breathtaking. And this is absolute divinity Eric 🙏❤

  10. Beautiful. Being cast out, still serving her, the messenger… I especially love the second half of this where I see a subtle turn. Or I’m imagining it. Either way. #mast ❤

  11. chaos-xd says:

    Absolutely loved the rich use of language and the soaking darkness!

  12. Fuuuuck! (and that’s a compliment because I don’t have any better words!)

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