The Fort
The dark castle, walls of stone, iron gates,
squats, defiantly, upon a low hill,
bracing against the storms of gods and men
of which it weathered many, and survived
as have the lords who live and lived within.
Two centuries, masters of all they see
power over those souls without the walls;
those within in their ermined purple robes.
But should they ever look beyond those walls;
which ne’er they do, for they do turn to fools;
they would observe the people build a fort.
Ragtag people, a simple wooden fort,
but it will grow, one day surround the lords,
the masters, owners of their wretched lives;
slowly choke them until they all do starve.
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