The fairy tales tell of sleeping Princesses,
Awoken by valiant Princes.
All comes aright.
They live long and inherit the Kingdom.
All very predictable,
After so many tellings.
But what of the poor Knight,
So long lost in his constant vigil
And a quest that is never completed?
He thinks he is faced with defeat.
He lays down to sleep,
Alone in a wood,
His tired horse stands drooping beside him.
The things he most trusts,
His sword and his shield,
Are laid down to rust.
He denies them.
He has come to despise them.
The woods have a sparkle.
The dawns silvered shine has a twinkle.
The air sets the leaves all a-tremble.
Soft steps are parting the branches.
Wings like a butterfly flutter.
Larger than life they keep spreading,
Bowing, caressing, enfolding.
When the morning light comes,
Tender and bright,
The fresh morning dew has moistened his lips.
His eyes closed,
Deep in a dream,
He feels the touch of one sweet long kiss.
That’s all it takes.
It’s a kiss that strengthens,
A kiss that inspires,
A kiss that heals and sustains.
He has no more need of his armour.
Now he can arise
And become a true Knight.
Only a true kiss can do this.