Thomas Heard Poetry (The Ballade of Tristan and Isolde)

The Ballade of Tristan and Isolde

The moon full fair did shine upon
Sir Tristan at the fight
Encased in steel, and with sword drawn
His eyes all bloodied bright
Ere struck his fellow Irish knight
And Tristan's heart did flower-bud
Falling then in grey twillight
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Recalled Sir Tristan as he fell
His orders from the King
'In Ireland, Isolde dwells
Crimson smile, entrancing
Lithe of limb, a-dancing.
Across long miles we courted-
Escort her for the marrying.'
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Stagger up against his foe
Sword rose and fell in fatal strike
And so he fell, once great Fios
As bloodied Tristan saw a Psyche
Of beauty then, all fae, dreamlike
That brushed his hair, all sweat matted
Whom in her heart felt Cupid's spike
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Isolde wept for love so brief
And swore that he was not to die
But fed to him an aperitif
Of secret wants and scarlet tie
Of hearts restored to life thereby.
Secret, sacred Grail-kept liquid
Could even Hades thus deny
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Refilled with life, Isolde's gift
Tristan first sees his Uncle's bride
And even as his face he lifts
Duty strives with love inside
'I am yours,' he doth confide
Isolde smiles, his heart thirsted
And so he rose thence to her side
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Through endless nights they hunt as one
And frequent consumate their love
Til thoughts of home, duty undone
See Tristan place his oath above
Isolde fair, pale as the dove,
To finish that which he was charged
To Mark his King, his gift Beloved
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Bells ring forth to sound the news,
King Mark and bride, fair Isolde
But love still burns from secret brew
In Tristan then, who turned from day
And in turning, dark-led astray
And thus it was sweet love tainted
With needs only she could allay
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Nightmares thence beset the king
Of traitor's knife and horn-ed crown
Until one night when fain sleeping
Fix't by fear he could not drown
An eye was drawn to road, to town
Isolde rode, with him knighted
And furious he frenzied round
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Mark called the knight before his court
And sent him to exile
Never more again to sport
Isolde with, her scarlet smile
Was lost to him, to British Isle.
Thus Tristan ends, banished, gelded
To Arthur sent, a gift reviled
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Gentles, Prince, here stops my song
Tristan and his love parted
Fairest, lovely, separate, gone
As all is lost in wash of blood.

Written with Expression x3
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