Sundered from each other
by contrived passages;
Did we ever feel the earth
As it lived beneath our stride?

Bred in a herd to toil together,
Yet heedless of our ties.
Led to invent the routine way,
Our essence, the levy.

Encroaching on these sylvan sanctuaries,
Realms once vibrant and various,
Outcasts and escapists hidden within
Twinning their voices with owls and nightingales
Eyes of a thousand shapes all unseen,
Sheltered from the watchful order.

Watchers and orders trespass the shade
Dousing out mysteries of woodland fables
Evanescing into air like the morning dew
Wounding foxes and stags beyond hunters’ might
Once a realm of lust(er) and shelter,
Our refuges wane under waxing burdens

Withered, this home once lavish
Bereaved of wealded hearth
Shapes lost with the timber
Voices fading with the wind

We languish in this, our hollow home
Bereaved of wealded hearth
As legends lost with the domain
Voices fading with the wind

Wayward mysteries, voices stilled
Kindred, scattered sovereigns,
Set astray by the alchemy of sorrow
(Wayward kings…)

Evanescing into air like the morning dew
Wounding foxes and stags beyond hunters’ might
Once a realm of lust(er) and shelter,
Our refuges wane under waxing burdens