Alarum Citadel

The King at court.

How the little girls play with their strings,

Heart-strings all, and pretty short things,

They make bows for young boys to wear in their chests,

To match the veins tangled beneath their young breasts.

The King’s ears prick up at the urgent tone

Of an alarum singing to his ears alone.

Like melodies lost and lonely at night,

Floating to earth from their singular flight,

I realized then I’d heard a song never before heard,

Or countenanced, or believed in, or theorized.

Just words, I knew, but strung together right,

And paired with a voice to set them alight.