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Nigh on 15 years,
James forged a grand divide,
Twixt himself and what others petitioned an intrusion.
Poised, flame bathed in hearth-light,
Gingerly coaxing his cleaving axe into readiness...
From this vantage, the river dispels her perfume into the air passing through open windows,
Enough to carry his soul,
Burdened by patriarch visions,
Away....

On the morrow,
James would bound from youth at a clutch for what destiny conspires to decant into truth.
The Lairds plot burbling toward an uprising,
Urged him lead them on...
Bannerman foreswore a march irretrievable in disconcern of consequence.
For death and fight,
be bedfellows of Country's might.
And at new moon ride...

Ride....ride...

Consternation welled at the core of young James,
Ought trust and fold to pocket the word of Laird...
Though betrayal hung swift in possibility of days yet unlived...
Would that every step forward,
Be swept into avoriced hands...
A Father's crown presides a daunting weight over circumstance....

Oh such divisive nomenclature;

Usurper.

Or Regent True to heart of kin....

The bed her fate doth dictate,
Is wild with stirring and golden hosts of ruin.

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