Who is The Black Prince?
There he stands haughty, resplendent in his shiny blackness, black as tar, black as night, with a touch of white, just to soften his stern image, a sign of his noble lineage that stern image.
Oh, those piercing lemon yellow eyes of his, oh God, help me and protect me! If this be a look of love or hate, of pride and vanity, or of desire and dominance, I’ll gladly be his slave: such is his black brooding beauty, resist it I cannot! “Here, take this small gift.”… What? He hesitates… Why this doubtful look? Why this change of mood? It’s not in his character to be timid…or is there a timid streak?
“Wait a minute, stay, don’t go”, I implore. “Look, I’m as gentle as a doe.”…Then he slowly moves closer and picks it up swiftly with his big black beak.
© irina dimitric 2012
Doug, this poem was written for Len’s Sunday Writing Essential, 19 September 2012.