The White Tomb Trembles
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* For J.K. Rowling *
~
now, deliberate your hearing
to bring back the pages torn
senses lost upon the cursing
of a rose, but ne'er its thorn
a gifted sock to save an elf
though not one minute worn
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, obliviate your parents
and we'll play upon their bed
thus spin the deathly hallows
and turn time upon its head
permit a spell of faretheewell
while splinched, it waxes red
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, ambivalence is dancing
for the thestrals on the wing
and one stick of finest elder
makes a molten marrow sing
burned to hail a master risen
born and blackened for a ring
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, we ordinate a cupboard
to spew saviors from its dark
stain the forehead of a child
with a vicious monster's mark
grant him fire to fight the fire
tho' he can't yet make a spark
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, a caliphate is searching
for a wand, a stone and cloak
while the doppelgangers utter
incantations breathed to stoke
all the fires that now engulf us
as we chasten time and choke
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, he's preordained to vilify
the lamp with frightened cries
and tarry long enough to steal
the flames from hearts or eyes
as he finds his sickly pleasures
gazing deep, a spark that dies
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, a monster was created
from this monster that, in turn
spun his curses on their heads
and insured that he would burn
his evil seed has grown a weed
that reaped one heaped return
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, far above the highest fells
'midst brumal mists of gloaming
a phoenix flies to shed the dew
and set one grand soul roaming
but in that seeming placid place
a young man's ocean's foaming
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now the portkeys are disarming
with green goblets or old boots
placed to trick a lad to treason
while a grave yawns in dispute
and blood taken from an enemy
binds their wounds in ill reputes
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, a patronus found prancing
'midst a wood of darkened deed
hides a secret meant for tearing
near the end of weeping's need
as a drowning sword of Gryffindor
glints to grant the goblin's greed
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, a beast with name forsaken
waits to steal souls in the wood
and the voice that left all shaken
hides its true face 'neath a hood
while he only takes what's given
of the boy's heart true and good
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, the heavens cry in plasma
and the ground shakes in dismay
all the ramparts thus dismantled
for the price that love must pay
and the elder wand once hidden
now strains for his twisted way
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles ...
now, a laden lad must barter
trading death for death, alone
and as laurel for that martyr
find redemption with a stone
yet that horror laid before him
freezes marrow to the bone
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles …
now, the master of that grave
is come to question for his Id
to place heaven as a garland
for the creature, bloody, hid
yet his final choice is clearly
but a feral scratching’s bid
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles …
now, a train of peace moves on
without its dearest little prince
as the final card is yet unplayed
the wounds now brought to wince
oh, true heroes ne’er have allied
with such meekness, ‘fore or since
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles …
now, the stairs and steeples quiver
through their songs to ‘stead obey
what the animus in all her strength
has brought, from stones and clay
forth to thus defend a blessed oath
‘midst hopes, should birth the day
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles …
now, the battle waged, penultimate
greets dawn with prayers all crossed
for the beast was vanquished angrily
though drenched with bloody costs
and a war so won is sans its sweet
for the treasured lives, thus lost
and the white tomb trembles
the white tomb trembles …
now, a boy came from a cupboard
found one strange and magic life
though the auror he became could
not have dreamt such fear or strife
that he would be the cutting edge
this charmed and dreadful knife
or save the world from evil
with love and friendship, rife
the son of James and wife
and the white tomb trembles …
no more.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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