A lady's book of poesy

[Archivist]

There is
      a groan
            from the tower.

Oldspyre trembles.
Ancient and mirthless,
And knowing what comes,
She raises her hand,
Reaching to Heaven,
And touches God's mask
With silent reproach.

There is
      a sigh
            from the cellar.

The leaves in the street
In colorful droves
Jostle and rustle
With rats underneath.
The leaves are your lies,
The rats are your crimes,
Silent your piper.

There is
      a cry
            from the palace.

Blood paints the ringwalls.
Daughters and sons are
Lost in the forest.
What shape emerges
Out of the incense?
Even the willow
Shall burn in the end.

There is
      a scream
            from the garden.

Mother and child are
Actually strangers.
Horror revolts them
From one another.
Truth, when arriving
Unbid is unwelcome.
The gate shall be locked.

[Archivist]

I had a dream in which I sprouted wings
And flew at dawn through cold and foggy skies;
I flew across nine hundred thousand Rings
Until the City vanished from my eyes.
What did I see beyond? What did I find?
I saw what writhes in chains within God's mind,
And when I woke I found that I was blind.