Final Pt – The Wolf’s Lair – a poem series

***

I hear the forge hammers ring out

Across the woodlands, waves loud

Languid and soft, branches shake

From the anvils beating on stone

To make these swords, so puzzling.

*

More of us have forth come to care for

This land of twisted trunks, poison

Oaks and devil willow barks black dry

From stored up curses let loose, spread

Round like witch’s brew jam, jelly fire.

*

We see the hidden ways of forest hoards,

Willing to change all from resignation

To the horrors done, hardly forgotten

Over the years seeming without end,

A force for the new, to this garden tend.

*

Howling at a gibbous moon so high, no

Silver now but golden shine foams through

Clouds clumped in the leaden skies, heroes

Recognised under these painted scenes realised,

A land to be new, newly made and freshly seen.

*

The work is begun, the group reined in,

A high world upon this plateau spreading

Far, far, far about, taking in all now

For a dream to be achieved, absolve this

Old ache of dead curses left to linger.

*

As if by the granting of a mad god’s boon

The scum of the waters is lessened, clear

Like the lakes were never muddied, sere

Moments of sunshine illume trunks less

Twisted than their as yet unblessed cousins.

*

 We Wolf Lords wander

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