by Marcus Draik

Black clouds across the stonewrought world chastise
The weathered castle
Mournful silhouette
With turrets pointed, skyward clasped in prayer
Stone roughly hewn against the grievous skies
No shelter sound
The seeping dampness finds
In lightless chambers some lost skull of ere,
Forgotten mother's babe,
Of spiders' touch.
The scourged cry out for comfort in despair,
Embrace in sorrow, sculpting works of stone
Without are trifles;
Here the doleful world
Where one might taste
In lightless doom, majestic fate alone.