The Wizard of Zebulon

The tower stands - isolated,

In a gloomy glade

Its peak - reaching,

Disappearing into the fog

A dilapidated cobblestone path,

The only road, to or from

the looming stone giant,

Is marked by one sign,

Which leads to the gates,

Of the mystic realm of Zebulon

-

On the throne of Zebulon,

Sits a wayward, wicked, wizard

Powerful, despite his blindness

- cruel, cunning, callous

-

The peoples of Zebulon

Spoke in hushed tones

Whisperings of rebellion - sedition

They were all crushed - silenced

None could out plan

The magnificently malevolent monarch

He may be blind

But he hears - everything

The people might stand a chance,

If only they weren’t illiterate

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A Note From the Author:

I'd like to thank the city of Zebulon, Georgia, whose incredibly wonderful name I appropriated for this poem. I'd like to reassure my readers, that this work is in no way a reflection of my feelings towards the people of Zebulon, or my feelings towards their local "Freddy's", which had no ketchup, whatsoever, when we stopped there for lunch. Thank you!