Alt Clud
A darkness darker than the darkest dark
Forbids it to us. We know nothing more
Than guesses at its language and its stark
Rapine and slaughter. Battles, battles, war,
And tiny strips of peace are all that we
Can stab at in the murk of trumped up facts.
Did queens wear crowns with gilded filigree?
We’re forced to predicate the battle axe
And even ornate shields. As for dance
And poetry, romanticism fakes
Them up. The mind’s eye fails to forge the lance
An Alt Clud warrior, yelling loudly, shakes.
..Some sort of fire in blackest fortress keep
….We conjure but the shadows lour too deep.
~ Phillip Whidden