Dark Rising

A speculative poem about a kingdom on the precipice of chaos.

There is trouble a-brewing.
I can smell its haste
to waste my good fortunes.
There is a storm a-coming.

Out by castle and courtyard
old knights in rusty wear,
guard this night of folly.
Be ready and prepare!

The Lighthouse by
the end of everything
flashes oddly, like a message
to take unto the grave.

Hound and horse and hunter
grow uneasy in the night.
Soon we slip our leash and go
to frolic and to fight.