3rd
The Shattered Prince
This is a poem by Nick Howe, a partner of Passé and a genius with words. real archaic kind of medieval flow, so vibe on it. hard.
“In the midst of nowhere lies
the broken, shattered prince.
No beacons to the rescue,
No crying nun to fuss and sigh,
“Oh what have you done dear boy?”
Lost, scared, and alone,
The nobleman stands to wince
Away the shamed shackles of impending doom,
But there in the muddy earth,
On his knees remains,
Convulsing in indifferent rain.
Pit pat pitta patta papa
Papa coming? Alas,
No King to save the flank,
No ringing horn
To call arms to righteous battles of sunkissed morn,
But somber tones of those who mourn,
The tearing asunder of their spirits
In the harsh, cold, sunless night
Rip and scratch their way through the air.
In this one the hope was placed,
And in this one were they shown to be false.
No more the White and shining Knight shall this one be,
But a broken, shattered prince.
No more will the voice ring
from the tops of his lungs,
but drip saggingly from the bottom,
filling rooms sonorously with his disgraceful tragedy.
The Knight in White is now
the forgotten son of an uncaring Kingdom.
Chivalry has died
along with the spirit. ‘
Love no longer exists.
Hope is but a false dream.
King of Brute Force,
of Shattered,
Broken hopes
for a life that will never be,
can never be,
thanks to the way they
have shaped the edges to fray into the center,
ever unfolding into the heart
of those things held dear,
the things that matter most.
The innocent suffer
while the evil begets itself into inferno
as the Arthur of his age
is cut down early
So his prominence and obscurity
of youth may now hasten to spiral down
to the dregs of never been and never be”
By: Nicholas Sterling Howe
