The subject of this work is based directly from the medieval concept of a ‘ritual of inversion’, hence the title that is somewhat derivative of that! The concept is that, in many communities for one day a year, the natural order (within reason) would be ceremoniously and symbolically reversed. In particular, a ‘Lord of Misrule’ would be chosen to preside over the festivities. Some have suggested that this has been seen as a form of subtle social control, which I find fascinating. Here, I have written the story of a group of serfs who decide that the day of the ritual would be a symbolically opportune time to enact a revolution.
This day dawns only once a year
when the moon presides over the light
and the suns sleeps on oceanic damask.
This time, we’ll make it ours
and tear down the silken sky,
drape it over the eyes of our lords
and slip through the gauze into freedom.
We used to be fettered in seigneurial chains
for the fruits o’the Earth, to our masters’ hands.
But to subside, we toiled to survive,
grappling existence and sapping the spirit.
Always bathed in the manor’s shade;
it seemed to hang from the scales of Libra.
Our plans are born upon evening’s fall,
and we embody the violet dusk.
Tonight, the sumptuary order’s reversed
but fortune’s wheel shall hold it’s stance
for our hands shall interrupt the circle.
The Lord arrives to the sun’s demise,
of misrule he shall reign so true.
Let sceptre and orb become shield and sword.
From the weight of which we were bedecked
led us to fall so grievously.
The gold on our wrists tarnished to iron
and burning spirits were surely drowned.
Fools we were, for without our labour,
the land blooms still, once we are killed.