Alchemisland

Warped floorboards of once lordly manor, courtly manners

Old banners old families, armour suits rattling at passing phantoms

Glances, hints of spirits on the landing chalked up to flights of gin fancy

By gentlekin of quaint habit, a monk in a stained habit this house inhabits

Stained glass depicting a knight in plain tabard, scabbard empty

Blade aloft stained with blood of slain pagans, bard’s first folio

Beside a battered Milton, the sort of which you know

Funds held in escrow, he or she who one night spends over

In the room overlooking the back lawn’s shadowed clover, the old graves

Wended by miasms of goblingreen gloam, alone until dawn

That person brave enough deserves the lot, bursar and change

Often, triers absconded at strange hours

Leaving sheets requiring changing

Reporting apportment of lightmade flowers

Mystical powers made apparent

Some reported their hair turning silver, they daren’t return

Lest the fiend take it ill and tithe them for sinning with ironical killing.

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It is a room, they say, where the stain of spilled blood cannot be scrubbed away

Though many maids have taken pains, strained at it, the stain remains

Plain and bold as the day it was made; a fatal blade, none know the wielder

Save the wielder and his victim, it was three when he killed him

In tempest dark arts were condoned, harnessed in pursuit of honest

Vengeance, the killer crept in, hyperventilating as he went

He would make a crypt of this chamber, he was gripped by a wanton deathlust

But also by a shame thereof, the eyes were covered; just he, and God

The dog days, the prodigal and the rake at play the sun high as a maiden

Addicted to cocaine, nostrils caked like a festive arrangement with snow spray

He fucked the cut throat, cumming on the note-producing muscles.