The King of Wood Castle

Yellow storm clouds, Form under each step, As the thundering gravel cries, Through my shoes… The sour decay from the dump, Can still be tasted by the nose, Through the candied perfumes, Of the lily women lining the trail… The white bridal bells ring, As a clock wind blows, Through emerald steeples, Welcoming me to the wooden gates… I silently sneak past, The black intoxicated guards, As they buzz and dance, In their sweet vineyard feast… A drawbridge of leaves, Falls over the petal moat, And I enter the castle, Straightening my denim armor… The hallway is lifeless, Except for a few fairies and gnomes, Hidden in the moss walls, Laughing as I trip over broken stairs... I come to the throne, A rusted steel plow, With two trees grown through its middle, Kneeling down, I cry… The tears form blood pools, And daddy long legs swim in their rivers, As an owl questions my soul, “Who are you, who are you, who are you…” I lift my hands, And touch the raging sun, Breaking through the rotting ceiling, And then bury my face into the mud… I hear avenging angles, Scrape knives on halos, Flapping their wings over my breast, Destroying the crown… I run out of Wood Castle, Back down the gravel trail, All the way to the farm, Picking flowers and crushing daddy long legs...