Via the steppe, there’s a castle haunted,
Clutching its grace under the rain.
And yet, the stars have it embargoed
Beyond these tumbling clouds,
Wary to allow visibility through,
Lest a new command should take the turrets,
Spilling sight across the land
By the make of a new kingdom.
Jackals, murderers, encompassed clowns
All sit askance from the castle, happily,
Enjoying this service that the public admit;
Transferring dreams by robbery! – boy –
They steal with such a fixation of spleen.
Their verdicts are hooked before trial,
All jurors seeped up with sugary tricks,
Pegged by the grinning crowds below,
In wait to holler by window-speeches,
Iconic regalia adored and copied.
The castle’s weary, these altered days,
Long having been dressed in handsome ivy,
Cobwebs streamed down imperious stone …
One day the masonry here will crack apart,
Rolling in some finale perfect for ghosted eyes.
With age, sighs of wonder turn to sighs of sadness
As slowly the last kingdom breathes suggestion,
Yet won’t appear with her bells jingling.
Maybe loss shouldn’t yet be called, though;
Don’t muffle the trumpets, drain the wine,
Slaughter the guard-dogs yet, lords of timber,
Else the mighty return could lose its triumph.
Copyright © Harrison Abbott 2018
I write prose and poetry in a variety of styles; much of my work can be seen through this blog: http://harrison-abbott.tumblr.com/