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Michael Babbage Flawless & The Sentry |
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| Flawless Immaculate Beast, what are you when we dance, a great gothic gargoyle, petrified wings wishing of the sky. A portrait, a picture perhaps, longing for the world beyond the canvas, where touch is real, dripping not a thousand colours down. A book, in the mind of some mad scholar, where words make men, and towers fall with the question mark. Desire, that is what you are for each of us this way, desire unkempt and unbound. |
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| Michael Babbage ©Copyright 2002 - Michael writes at Quality Writing Time and Poet-tree |
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| The Sentry If it be wind that he heard far below underneath the mist, then better not a word is spoken save the gates are opened and the dust is stirred and riders are cast out bravely into the fierce night. But what if something, a vile beast of haunt or cave, a terrible wraith shambling forth from the crypts of the dead, or a roving clan purged and now returning upon the whim of vengeance, clamors beneath the walls in the depths of fog and the arching wood. If they do wait, knowing that if passed by they may leap upwards and cry aloud atop the battlements, then they have finally come, and hunger dreams weary no more for betrayal has made them ravenous kings. So sleep, pass by this noise that may or may not be dear sentry, and wish the morning soon, for perhaps the night and the creatures far below may come in tangled cloaks again to stalk you once away. |