Warren Atherton Poems

The moons silver hue torched his path to Fallouth
As Osedicus flew through the night.
Right above him a shadow approached from the south,
Swirling west in migratory flight.
...

In a far distant place in the Tillanho north,
Stands a tower jutting half a mile high.
Like a granulite epitaph menacing forth
To the heavens - a graptolite spy!
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In machiavellian manner with malicious intent
The Dark Lord surveyed the scene.
He’d watched in a fury, his demon hell-sent
Had but failed in what now should have been
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Alarm bells clanging, the shattering of glass
Poverty stricken, the gall of your class.
Go grab the bootey, exchange it for cash,
Your habit needs feeding so give it the hash.
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Happens, I came upon a copse,
T'was in the dead of night.
Moonlight torched a meadow path,
Led thee to this place of wrath,
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She works her fingers to the bone
To make a pitiful crust,
And always it is 'them' who make
While she stays bust.
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I mused there at the the table.

A myriad thoughts and emotions,
Like the sonar of the great 'Blue',
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An eastern wind in merry dance
Scoured the vale in lively prance.
To a rising Orb of yellow-gold
Which cast its light across the fold,
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Descended, dripping, from a ledge,
Hair, beard and cloak as white a snow.
Cascading droplets to and fro’
As he stepped foot on Tillanho
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“There’s more to this life than a handful of dust”,
Rued the Sage as he shifted his gaze,
And through all Tillanho cast a wintry gust
Sending chills in a shimmering haze.
...