When I discovered fanfiction, I never imagined there would be a niche for someone like me, a person who had always written poetry as a hobby rather than stories. But then I read the poems of Brit and Sonja and other talented writers, and you know the rest...
So this poem is dedicated to Sonja (fanfiction's Silver Lady), whose story, "The White Knight Mourning," first put the idea of neo-Gothic S&H imagery into my head nearly three years ago. The title conjured up visions of William Morris and Dante Gabriel Rossetti-style paintings. Just think of this as an AU follow-up to the episode, "Gillian," or perhaps as S&H viewed through a pre-Raphaelite kaleidoscope. I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Starsky and Hutch." I do occasionally borrow them, but never with fraudulent intent or with an eye to monetary gain.
Knight of Sorrows
By e-pony
The White Knight kneels down and bows his head,
As his heart weeps bitter tears his eyes won't shed.
He places flowers upon her fresh-turned bed:
A lily white, with briar roses red.
And he hears the evening breeze
Mourning through the twining trees,
As a message by the rustling leaves is spread:
"The Silver Lady sleeps among the dead."
x x x
Trembling shadows lengthen in the glade,
As the bright sun's rays to purple twilight fade.
And the White Knight recalls a promise made,
With each turn of a heavy iron spade:
To keep vigil by the grave
Of the dream he could not save –
To guard the place the lady has been laid.
And, yet, was he beloved or just betrayed?
x x x
Lonely moments stretch into the night,
While the ageless moon climbs slowly in the height,
Casting down its pale, dispassionate light
Upon the forlorn figure of the knight.
Was the shining in her eyes
The pure truth among her lies,
Or was she only pristine in his sight –
A tarnished soul beneath the silver bright?
x x x
Still, the knight keeps vigil through the hours,
A weary watch beside the wilting flowers.
And the trees, like silent sentinel towers,
Shelter him in fragrant, leafy bowers,
For sometimes the hero's role
Can exact too high a toll –
Break the heart its very strength empowers,
As passion's kiss enriches or devours.
x x x
Doubt obscures the memory of her face;
Yet the faithful knight retains his rightful place,
Recalling the gentle warmth of her embrace –
A living flame that death cannot erase.
And the Silver Lady gleams
Still within his waking dreams,
Walking with a well-remembered grace,
For true love will never pass without a trace.
x x x
Morning floods the eastern sky at last,
Dispersing shadows the dark and moonlight cast,
Just as trust has slain the dragons of her past
In a heart that holds her memory fast.
The words of a loyal friend
Have proved truthful in the end,
Though the night was long and doubt's chasm, vast;
Still, the Silver Lady's love shines unsurpassed.
