~ Brass Princess~

[billy]

You were conceived in passion.
Just before the fall of your Camelot.
Your birth was met with bliss on tap,
King Midas filling his challis and drinking you in,
intoxicated with infinite pride.
The first born, the only son, of an only son.
Our father becomes immortal on this day, able to live on, in you.
King Midas's boy Prince, cast in gold,
preserving a perfect genetic blend
of both he and his queen.
You and light share so much in his eyes,
the sun's reflection off your cheek,
will illuminate the way to your Camelot,
where the Kings darkness once kept the path hidden.
He believes that you were kissed by God,
with such a beautiful and masculine face,
full of so many expressions, all true.
Evoking random acts of kindness,
by the softness in your eyes,
you brought with you smiles of legacy,
keeping in mind grins from nowhere
are not accidental.
The King DID smile upon you,
his golden boy child,
knowing nothing of wrong,
you will never have a need to know of it.
I was conceived for procreation,
his highness wanting a second son.
I arrive in the shadow that follows behind you,
to the great disappointment of the King,
into the Kingdom, a royal girl child is thrust.
My birth was met with obligatory congratulations,
forced bows and crooked curtsies,
our father excepting them with a false show of pride.
Forged from Brass, I'm not cast in gold
by the Midas touch of the king.
Only looking the same when polished,
I am left to tarnish, baptized
in the salt water of our mothers tears.
Second to be born, into a second class.
With a silent grace I except my position,
in the shade of the sun that you've eclipsed.
The Queen DID cry upon me, her baby girl child,
my skin made of armor infused with Brass,
making me stronger in integrity than Gold,
because knowing nothing of wrong,
I am forever destined, to know nothing but.

very powerful Fd.
at first i wasn't sure of the mixed metaphors of Midas and Camelot but they work better and better as one reads the poem and become a true extended metaphor.
a poem full of resignation of station. of feeling of a lower class/caste.
for me the poem has lots of sorrow as to the 1st person pov. yet there's no show of resentment, more a pride in the strength it takes to be of lower birth. the idea that you were left to tarnish tied in really well with the brass metaphor. it shows a certain strength in face of a father's underlying disdain, though that may be too strong a word. .

the last line threw me a curve ending on 'but'
for me it deflects from the poem as a whole.

good to see the format
thanks for the read.