dusky elm
Hey, I'd love some feedback on the following poem and on how I can improve it. I'm a sucker for florid language but I think it may hinder clarity so I'd really appreciate varied perspectives.
Alhambra
A Moorish monarch sips on grenadine
Beside the myrtles, manicured within
Their neat and tidy rows, that sit beside
The ponds of flowing emerald pearls -
That glisten on the frost and fog that rule
Iberia in place of king and court.
A painting seems as real as real can be
When placed beside a grim reality.
It brings to life each drop of wilting red
And puts to sleep each hour of crippling dread.
Yet while the Monarch drinks his grenadine,
An army marches t’ward his golden dream.
Forsaken castles reek of venom still,
Apostles lie beguiled at their own fate.
The painting lain in dust as is the mill,
Betrayed by men who gilded castle gates.
Adorned at last in grave of earth and sand,
Our monarch at last, released his hand.
shy island
keen birch
