Has finally won, in blood.

Fell broken, tattered, slashed.

In decay, the floors that King

The grounds so mourned and cried,

Each cabin sleeps now wither.

The throne remains yet still

Are broken now, Society.

The courtyards torn, no treasures left

In brimming mounds were burned and nothing here

Unscathed, were stained, crowning arts.

Room’s been of Bright Ones, now drenched.

And worst of all,

The tapestry here reigns,

The corridors converge.

Of the Good, chipped and faded, veiled with ash.

The stairways all in mud, to shreds.

Lay in fragments, lost their heads on the ground,

And commanding towers weeds have overgrown and grayed.

Of the Dreamer ‘neath darker clay,

Lie in darkest piles reside.

No pillows, and used the headboards

And railings, poor victims for firewood.

Fine linens caked, strewn

After the war, in shambles.

The castle’s thick, choking the Kingdom

And hazed their proud arches

The throne to mark the stay.

The stonewalls, all but gone, with tears,

For pillaging will spawn.

For now, seems now,

Was done, defiled.

-

Author’s Note: I created the above poem by using the “cut-up” technique on the original version in the previous chapter. A few changes have been made to the rearranged text for clarity.