The tower is of night-made-marble,
Looming overhead, foreboding,
Speaking to all a silent warning,
'If you enter, you will not leave.'�

Below the tower, the thorns are deep,
A barrier of barren swords,
To pierce the flesh of any who dare
Ignore the tower's warning.

A lone candle, like a single silver star,
Sits on the windowsill of the prison,
Its golden flame illuminating the prisoner,
And casting her shadow on the wall.

She lies unmoving on the bed,
Her golden tresses spread around her,
Her lips and cheeks pink roses,
Alive and well in sleep eternal.

Many have tried, through the years
To free the sweetly sleeping maid
But none have triumphed, all have failed,
The thorns have feasted many times
On the blood of would-be heroes.

Now a simple peasant boy,
Has come to try his hand.
He bears a sword of magic-birth
And a fairy's favor for his success.

He slashes at the thorns,
His sword swishing through the air.
This peasant boy, with enchanted sword,
Is a powerful foe for the thorns,
Which give way under his mighty blows.

He now has a path to follow,
But still must find the door,
Leading to the stairs, which, in turn,
Will take him to his princess.

His benefactress has shown him
Exactly where to touch the stone,
To make the hidden door appear.
He does so and it shimmers into being,
A moon in the night-made-marble.

He wrenches it open and dashes inside,
Just before it vanishes.
Now for the final test: waking the sleeper.
He dashes up the winding stairs,
And finds the sleeping maid,

Her golden hair spread all about her,
Her lips and cheeks pale pink.
She is more lovely than he'd dreamed,
He takes a step toward her,
Unable to prevent himself.

He bends down and their lips touch.
Her eyes flutter open, revealing sapphire spheres.
She sits up gingerly and blinks,
A slim, pale hand reaching up to touch her lips.

'Who are you, good sir?'� she asks.
'Only a simple peasant boy.'�
He hangs his head, ashamed.
To his surprise she only laughs,
A bell-like sound, and beautiful.

'A peasant boy?'� she says, quite shocked.
'You're the one who broke the spell?'�
He nods, still ashamed, and cannot look
Upon the face of the fair princess.

She laughs again, her eyes shining.
'Why then, you must be my true love!
For that is who can break the spell,
Be he prince or knight or peasant boy.'�

He stands up straight and blinks his eyes,
Unable to believe his ears.
He is her true love, then?
Because he broke the spell upon her?

'Lady, are you sure?'� he asks.
'Quite sure,'� she says, 'if you love me.
If not, I may as well go back to sleep.
But do tell me that you love me!'�

'I do, Lady,'� he replies,
His eyes lifting to meet hers.
'Then take me away, my love.'�

They share a smile, he takes her hand,
They leave the cold and lonely prison,
A forbidding fortress of night-made-marble,
Its barrier of thorns now lying dead upon the dirt.
He leads her through the forest, to their home.

Author's Note: I am not usually a poet. I wrote this for Creative Writing class last year. It was the best poem I wrote that semester. However, I doubt if I'll ever be able to make it better, because I'm not a poet. In short, be kind in your comments...

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