Palace of Smoke

Gravel

Bits of liquid gray rumble under foot

Hum a chant my quiet ears can hear.

A hymn the ants know with no chorale.

Days split like an old oak fought by lightning,

Majestic debate like thunder’s rage, riveting and engaging.

Skies wrestle the night like gladiators past…

Yet, each trivial grain of gravel coasts along.

Flora of dulcet pinks and glimmering corals flaunt.

Ensnaring the eyes of all who see like one that never saw sunset.

Glide on.

This dirty, crushed stone road to converse a fool.

A wealth of words unspoken underneath with pleasantries.

Your kingdom of one is a fortress of clouds and smoke.

Your royal court, out of sight, bows to vacant echoes.

A verbalization and attribute of ghastly walls and pallid washes.

Finery from distant lands, coveted trash molded into purposeful kindling.

We stand with flowers broad as a dinner table with stems wrought of rubbery steel.

Neither willing to flinch or offend.

Yet, I stand in my dust waters, a tide of limestone and ash.

Building blocks to a mouth so strong!

A tongue with accusations blazes into orbs like the Moon.

A Foolish King with skies of chess.

A self-appointed ruler of singularity with an empty citadel.

A homestead with no subjects.

You stand at my flowery divide with gall to demand?

Command my submission?

Oaken steed with mane of night, hooves shoed in fanciful stars;

Give chase to one so bold.

Take stand in presence of impudence.

Step in tune of the ants’ chorus!

Pebbled champions cluster in solidarity.

Breathe out winds so firm!

Castles on ground made of clouds and smoke,

Begone!

Promenade with Father Time with minutes frozen, content with motionless dance and inorganic words.

Moonbeams of crystalline; curved, linear tracks

Tear-like paths guide fauna in chaotic order.

No feathers out of line.

No mane misplaced

Just grim, twisted features far too sinister for polite company.

My castle above with stairs of ice and floors of Jade;

Coronation for a Succubus Queen.

Take care, my prince.

An aubergine, vulpine knave.

Your allegiance mine at the Throne of Serpents.

Caged beauty like a butterfly trapped in a cocoon of self-design.

Palace of envy and frost nurture plants of lore.

Violets with cerulean petals and stamen of ice;

Roses so white with cores of burgundy; fed by the sanguine remains.

Pumpkin toned daisies that spring out of ghostly mouths, tongues unhanging like loyal dogs.

Companions to fallen gods on gravel so soft, its chant an epitaph

A eulogy to Thunder’s verbal defeat.

The March of a Dethroned Plebian King!

The Fox Prince’s Shattered Waltz…

With high decree signed on floral desks dressed in linen,

Steed of midnight wrapped in ochre scarves, trot with head high like ether gracing ebony and snow skies.

Pinky carnations and tangerine daffodils lay a carpet off blooms at my feet.

Arachnid silk woven drape, clinging to shoulders narrow and dainty, strong to hold forests of insect song.

Throne of Glass with dedicated strength,

Rest on gravel roads rumbling along floral runners.

Lead my chaos from the dreamscape.

Feed my Succubus Queen her suckling nectar.

Wash my Palace of Cloud and Smoke in ether rich spirits

Shield sepia eyes from the lands drenched in madness

Wake to normality within simple constraints.

Blend into societal requirements

Until night falls low and sanity takes on Morpheus’ dust.

Where liquid dust roads lead to the Kingdom of Jade and Ice.

Where dreamed reality is euphoric.

Seldom the breeze that topples Smoke and Ash to dreamland memories.