The Force Majeure, A Love Story, and The Beginning

And so long she’s waited, tonight has called the raven
without a friend, she has hoped not, to be left behind

blank gazes force a burst, like in the beginning
and to beset or besieged, but really knotted

is when the just call, to be just then measured
in delight of annotation, she has been, again favored

while passerby, the lady in red, I’m without love
while I have loved the lady of red, I am beguiled

beckoned to be and poised, for her threshold and scuttle
where I’m confined but freed, without time nor greed

will I soar or plummet to her regresses or her summit
then to demarche, then to do battle, with the crucibles I’ve welded

from ritual to romance, this is the damned and the luck of lions
foreseen is the raven, the keeper, the taken, and sadly the foresaken

and force majeure, surety, and obligement are her flights of fancy
destined to divinate a blaze, brilliant, and accordant of her becoming glamour