Wicked Wicker Kings

As I slept I dreamt a dream, a dream that was itself a dream;

Beneath an empty sky stretched blighted fields before me —

Boundless to the east; Specked with fires — poor heavenly echoes,

Stars fallen to die in weak cinders on the geest -

The stars, the fall, the man.

Though I a distant voyeur, immaterial, darkly did I look down

To see gaunt and hoary people, counter-clockwork dancing

About the rattan plinth of an immense copper crown —

Long gone to green. I could hear him speak.

From a winter face flowed suborn speech:

That which stalks the langered gloom—

Those who walk between the trees—

Venture not beyond the light!

There are other worlds than these.

The wretched danced around their priests, bound by chains

To him; loose wheel spokes — iron veins to flow the ichor

Dancing endless circles around this Wicked King of Wicker.

Then to me, their eyes did turn, remote expressions pleading,

Mouths open in despair, the question there entreating:

Are you the destroyer?

I had no answer.