THE SPIDER QUEEN

THE DARK TOWER CHRONICLES

Heavens palette tailored angry black,

Clouds heavy about to burst.

Tears of pain in fluffy sacks,

Clutched one another immortally cursed.

Yet in the gloom a child was born,

Radiant, strong eyes of blue.

Not yet a pawn in a world torn,

Energies pulsed through his wondrous hue.

Commoners new from early age,

This child would be,

A special kind of Mage,

Maybe to set us free.

Zip skipped to the child’s beat,

So small so callow to know.

Fast asleep beneath a sheet,

Maturing stronger as he grows.

Years passed with unaccustomed firmness,

Thy youthful Mage flourished kissing his stepfathers hands.

Sheltering from hostile forces at best,

They could within the boiling land.

Wind sounded like a babble, cacophony of wail and moans,

Soon cloggy clouds let loose their snare.

Flawless like an army marching with drone,

Of zephyrs upspring and tare.

“Father who was my real Dad?”

He squinted at me with a glassy stare.

Eyes sparkled but behind there was sad,

How much should I tell, how much should I share?

“He was much like yourself, kind a virtuous Mage,

Working hard at study, many hours well spent.

News of the Dark Lord and his deadly plague,

Is where his fury would finally vent.