u/harvest_raven

Crenellations all, whom only grace hath blessed,

Yet one stands far beyond the rest,

The last castle in the west.

Mountain song and whispers heard of coming death,

What secrets can she not express,

This last castle in the west?

Then Jericho! Trumpet sound and fire will thunder from her breast,

And heaven will peer beyond the crest,

Of the last castle in the west.

Those in hell will think it heaven,

With some Daniel’s number seven,

And those in heaven will think it hell

When comes the sound of the morning bell.

A calumny, a minor fib, an unassuming lie,

Rises so with blackened wings into the morning sky;

And from its dark and twisted beak a warbling song does race,

That soon the world below becomes a more fictitious place.

Two holy men in an unholy land,

Joined so in prayer, hand over hand.

Upon a lone vessel, they looked to the stars,

And bade those in heaven would take them afar.

The first man prayed for a wind to the east,

To carry their sails to a sumptuous feast.

The other prayed for a wind to the west,

Toward adventure at their behest.

And when the Lord answered these dissonant songs,

With two mighty gales to guide them along,

The clashing winds bellowed and beckoned and roared,

Casting both holy men full overboard.

Long sings Silence from within,
So touch, must I, her moonlight skin,
To know the words and sing in chorus,
With those to come and those before us.
Yet as this prophet shines her ray,
My finger curls the other way.
What providence she might bestow,
I cannot, will not, shall not know.