EPISTLE OF THE DARK KNIGHT

 

KNIGHT

Wind blows portend, as the sphinx arises,

Buckled to his heart- bristle consequences of mankind’s revolt;

Not willing to share; this which brings him bulk mirth- gaiety of his possession, his knowledge obscure to others.

Locked up in the silent chambers of solitude,
wrapped in his own dogmatic saying: non but I.

He becomes the grim in quietude, creeping the maze of lone; digging even more darkness to his shadows- he blurs his own vision thinking he’s wise.

Because he has never lost in war does not mean he would not lose in this battle.
For nature shall rise against him, like plant in spring.

Though she’s miles away but I can hear her calm whispers;
Oh knight!
She is coming…

Olympus Has Fallen

 

Brown Bricks

Walls of brownish bricks,

crumbled at the touch of the wind,

Wind strong enough to pull tick trees out of the soil;

It’s strength cast, and home-walls fall flat to the ground with scattered roofs abroad.

My lids shivered as the dust swiped into the tents of my vision,

Lenses blurred, visuals curved- curved into directions unclear.

Help! Help!! my lips mumbled

Where art thou?; oh people of the city,

Or have thou hidden?- hidden from the reach of the storm that tormented me.