Guinevere

Jezebel, that Jezebel,
rings on fingers, toes,
dances in the limelight
of all she's come to know
but Guinevere, that Guinevere,
beauty personified,
merely offers up her tears
as evidence of soul.

They trickle slowly, softly,
from her knowledge base
for she knows that love's a grandiose thing
and one to be revered
by even the most lowly
or the seemingly so.

There are no lowly beings
in her now endless world
but she can see how people learn
to disregard the soul
and invade her personal space
with unwanted particles
of narcissistic energy.

But she smiles through her tears,
forgetfulness must always come
before conscious recall
of the most high.

Guinevere, that Guinevere,
still lives today, you know,
for the semblance of her archetype
is somewhere in the world
far away but not apart
from her Sir Lancelot!