A/N: This runs side-by-side with a story I'm writing now. In it, Arthurian legend and Norse mythology take place around the same time. Since there's no tag for King Arthur, I figured this would be the best place for it.
This poem is from the point of view of Morgan Le Fay, whose downward spiral has just begun, but you're welcome to imagine it's told by someone else.
He thinks I can't see
The things he tries to hide
With a wily smile
Or a sly wink
Or a halfhearted chuckle
He thinks I can't see
That he's slowly going mad
From the things he's done
And the things he's seen
And the things he couldn't prevent
He thinks I can't see
That he secretly hates the fates
Or that he silently curses the heavens
Or that he's holding back tears every time we pass a church
He thinks I can't see
That he's seen this all before
And that seeing children makes him wince
And that he jumps at any mention of his life before
He thinks I can't see
That he wants to make things right
And that he views this life as a second chance
And he thinks that he can save me somehow
He thinks I don't know
That he's not what he appears to be
That he's more human than he pretends
That he can't bear the thought of seeing his own story played out before him again