on the last seat
in the last cabin
of the last train –
Lo! she sat
still – in solitary – far back in blackness –
amongst ghosts; not strange to the final hour of 24:
men and their horses
– donned in dark suits and gold cuffs –
partake in ’tis passage
— long — O! —
she breathes in
the air in their carry-ons (and smiles)
as they enter the last cabin of the last train
that shall trek through the Pitch Wetlands
and all its creaks and creases —
with all its tattooed barricades —
cleverly inter-knitted barb-wires and
and creatures born from shadow — her guardians!
guardians of the Caged Kingdom
rise from rest and
unleash her zenith now!
tick tock strike of midnight [enter Death: mark her plight] inhabitants of the night;
bringers of malaise
welcome her arrival!
(’tis her accompaniment)
thrown into worn-out throne-rooms
captured by Time;
onto silent waters of red and their bloodied bodies shall form a pathway
into the residence of dear, dear Apate.
originally published: 23 Nov 2015