Mordred grinned as he stood on the sheer cliff edge,
He had no intention of keeping his solemn pledge,
The kingdom would be his to twist and then plunder,
In leaving his kin in charge Arthur made a lethal blunder.
Given a chance like a dog thrown a gristled bone,
Now he could plot safely to win himself a throne,
And as the wind tried to rip him towards the sea,
He watched the King departing with a loyal company.
Camelot has undoubtedly suffered a most fatal blow,
Now he could turn the knife and take the end slow,
Arthur had been separated from the Round Table,
And fom his country too if Mordred was only able.
Bad news can always travel as fast as any horse,
The nation was taken true but it was not by force,
People are often only too willing to think the worst,
They drink up cruel tales as if they die of thirst.
Mordred starts to undo all the prior good intention,
Plots to encourage revolt and so spreads dissension,
Stirs up the hive and the angry swarm spreads out,
Until the tiny whisper has turned into a loud shout.
Arthur fights his personal war as if in mindless trance,
People are taxed and told it is for the King's own vengance,
That the knights he left behind are to see that they must,
They are told he has forsaken them and all their former trust.
At Mordred's word the tax money is collected quickly,
It comes from all Britain even the poor and the sickly,
So it is not long before they doubt their own King's word,
And start to question all that they had ever heard.
In only a short space of time Arthur then returned,
His temper was subdued but his memory still burned,
He had abandoned the desire to indulge Sir Gawain,
For to blame Sir Lancelot for their ruin was insane.
Poor Gawain had died as a result of a grievous wound,
For in battle against a reluctant Lancelot he swooned,
And retreated to his own camp to die singing the knight's praises,
Confessing he had wronged him for his courage blazes.
In truth King Arthur would not raise a sword to fight,
He had left with his retinue to return home that very night,
The words he had heard about his Camelot's steady demise,
Were all the incentive he needed to see through Mordred's lies.
The worm had turned and Mordred was clearly the one,
He could see all the destruction his son and heir had done,
It was too late to try to put things back as before,
But at least he can end this and look to settle the score.
His Queen was now dead and his friend was abroad,
He had eventually lost that which he could ill afford,
The mighty country he had taken so long to unite,
Now took to arms and was ready to reluctantly fight.
It was to tears that heroic Arthur was finally brought,
And by his side many a loyal man and knight fought,
Against the others who had once paid him loyal tribute,
Friends and comrades who now only feed the dispute.
Sad to see a nation brought to its knees in shame,
Stripped of its greatness and trying to preserve its name,
Wronged by the wickedness and sin of the heart,
Mordred tries to end that which he had longed to start.
It is not right to dwell too long on Camelot's destruction,
When the ones you have loved are the same you set upon,
And the death you bring to your own kith and kin,
Is too great a price to pay just so your side can win.
But amongst all the blood and the fallen heroes,
Stands the mortally wounded Arthur over his foes,
And Mordred now killed will never speak again,
Has gotten his dying wish and plunged all into pain.
The castle echoes with the sobs of the distraught,
There are few left now of Arthur's once noble court,
Some have fled or returned home to their own lands,
Having left matters alone as if out of their hands.
But the future of all that had been slowly built,
Amounts to nothing but a sea of blood now spilt,
And spread over the fields that had once raised corn,
A new crop of the future from the ashes will be born.
The tumbled down ruins of carved stone and rubble,
A country which senses only the start of its trouble,
The crows which gorge themselves on the feast of war,
These are pitiful sights I am glad that I never saw.
I can only tell you with my heart sad and spirit broken,
That in hope the name of King Arthur was once again spoken,
For some who had seen him still standing at the end,
Were expecting him to return and then Camelot mend.
But Sir Bedivere and the King are all that survive,
The Round Table has been crushed and few are alive,
And even as Sir Lancelot of the Lake races to the scene,
It will be too late to aid his beloved King and Queen.
A raven laughs from the charred trunk of a silver birch,
It has learned much about man from this very perch,
With self destruction the human path is littered,
The once noble ideals turned twisted and bittered.
A pure rain falls but it cannot wash away the taint,
The smell of death and decay will cause you to faint,
And despair is painted on the face of all surviving men,
For only in reflection can they see what they had then.
The carrion bird takes to flight and circles overhead,
Above the battlefield where the only two knights not dead,
Watch closely and then forlornly they realise in dismay,
That nothing can ever reverse the damage done this day.