litote_convoluted: art: a tide of swords
A Tide of Swords
It was the night the rain turned
into daggers and pierced
as such.
The night the cracked earth of
the desert sought not to
die of thirst and
found herself drowned.
The tides in all the concrete canalways
rose to burst their limitis,
and no ebb was seen for days.
The water in the streets raged.
It was the night a thousand horsemen rode
but not one whose name was Truth.
Armed only with words,
the echo of the hooves on pavement
still resounds the path from
one home to another.
It was the night a thousand battles
were fought and lost.
You will remember it as the night
all the lights from all the bedroom windows
cast red shadows of the occupants
upon the lawns.
It was the night a thousand husbands met
a thousand daughters of joy, and
one thousand wedding rings
were turned to steam amongst
the molten metal
of swords the sky
cast down.
It was the night Love died
and Pleasure was greeted
by the horseman named
Malace.
It was the night that marked
the end of times when
Heroes could refute that
all was lost.
The last drops of Chivalry,
remnants of the great sea that once was
Romance,
were swept up in
the tide of swords.
The moon was full,
but blue.
I remember the night sky.
It fell with the stifling weight
of the grey wool blanket
it resembled,
but lacked any
of the accompanying
warmth.