winter's cavalry — The Lighthouse

the sounds of an empire resounded through stone walls,

walls that kept fate enclosed in unyielding prison doors,

pocketing tyrants coupled with thieves

as the smile of soldiers' sheaths belied the fangs in their chests.

they couldn’t keep the Winter from its meal

they only dared to remain beggars at stone feet,

beggars dressed in sacrificial glory

and endowed with serpent fangs, coated with honor at the tips.

the infantry stood sentinel at the mouth of Winter’s brow

anticipation suspended in pearly white snow.

soldiers decorated the stone lioness carved on crumbling palace walls,

red uniforms, like ribbons on the outskirts,

as if the servant’s banner became the gargoyle’s dressing-gown.

the first arrow flew as rain,

tearing the sky’s fabric in two.

two guards lay wounded, the crimson flag pouring from their hearts,

half bitten by ice, though the airborne dagger spared the minds

blind to the enemy’s looming arms,

knowing nothing apart from the frozen slabs of dynasties.

the second arrow arrested the shield

for the survivors knew the frost chafed at their veins

and knew the shaft was a knave,

launching treacherous banter as art.

the glorious fools stood defiant at his lunge,

appeasing him with the taste of a crest

rather than the blood of the heart.

the triumphant protectors of ancient empire

chased glory while the enemy bit at armored heels.

Winter’s breath summoned the cruelest wind,

the sky was black with dart heads

and the snow formed plaited tails of stallions,

with wintry crystals as their masters.

they bore crossbows of twigs and branches,

until the bodies of armor lay against snowy cheeks

as Winter took their souls and strung them

each an ornament in her grimacing necklace.