Philip Whan

Lost lay the Ironbreath, frozen on the ice,
Creaking and groaning, filled with vice,
For her back lay riddled with lost greed,
So much glutton did she feed,
...

There once was a quest to see,
Who would be most filled with glee,
Starting under the bed,
They most hurriedly fled,
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Steady is the clock,
Constant eternal rhythm,
Forever ticking,
Much like the heart of a lover,
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I just might
Have slightly stolen
Your sightly seat
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It flows like silk,
Stronger when not alone,

It tangles like string,
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The fear, the fright,
Oh! How they Excite!
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The tear, the flare,
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There's a poem in this place-
Within the calls, throughout the halls,
With the ring of the quiet king,
The palace writes a lyric
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In the tradition held four by two,
I saw her go ahead and do,
Win my heart, win her crown,
All with a little frown,
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Fear!
How it makes simple things unclear…

Left to grow,
...

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In a land of ancient past,
packed with antiquities made to last,
there lied the granite mast,
a sign of man gone by fair and fast.
...