by Anthony Regolino

Heavily did the water weigh, upon her fragile form,

It crushed her down till none could see her if they stood above,

She understood full well this was the reason she was born,

A calling more important than the right to fall in love.

The fishes came to visit her, she knew them each by name,

But touch them she could not, for her hands could not leave the sword,

She could not move to swim with them or join them in their game,

She could do naught till she fulfilled her service to the Lord.

She knew the face belonging to the man who’d set her free,

It came to her when her eyes closed, so young, so proud, so fierce,

He knew not what she kept for him, nor what his fate would be,

Nor how he’d free her from the blade that her flesh it did pierce.

She’d smile when she’d recall the day that she had won the honor,

The sword went through her easily, it pinned her to the dirt,

The spell was cast, its magic true, the lake filled in upon her,

She did not bleed or breathe or eat; she felt not hunger nor hurt.

The land about her grew and aged, but neither could she do,

A maiden fair of fourteen years would be her lifelong state,

Preserved in holy water that was always warm and blue,

Awaiting he who’s promised to be fair and just and great.

She’d give him what he needed to protect his kingdom best,

Relinquishing the power that abided in the lake,

She wouldn’t know if he would be successful in his quest,

For not only the sword but her own life would he then take.

And when he finally came and looked into the clear still water,

There was no fear, no hesitancy, no regret in her heart,

He didn’t know what she would hold; he just knew that he sought her,

To satisfy some prophesy, of which she was a part.

Her hands were finally free to move, ensuring she’d be found,

And when he grasped the weapon’s hilt, he saw its metal gleam,

It drained the magic from the lake, the mistress, and the ground,

Causing the pool to roil and surge, and then begin to steam.

He pulled it from her body and then saw how it had staked her,

He backed away, absorbed with shock, retreating to dry land,

She smiled at him, then slowly vanished, off to meet her Maker,

Leaving him to marvel at the rust-free blade left in his hand.

“’Tis Caliburn,” said Merlin, who had brought him to this site,

“The Sword of Kings, the Blade of Truth, the promise of our land,”

With it in hand Arthur was meant to enforce all that’s right,

And be a shining beacon with a castle just as grand.

He looked back, wond’ring if the angel really had been there,

But naught was left to give credence to what he thought he saw,

A vision under water but with un-wet gown and hair,

Alive but yet not breathing, denying Nature’s law.

She looked down on him, thrilled with her new angle of elevation,

Lacking a physical presence that a mortal could observe,

She gazed upon the waters that were formerly her station,

Then left the world of men to see how she could now best serve.