Castle Of Broken Wings Poem by Stephen Carey

I stand at a pass, the top of a hill,
With a path like a trident.
Three castles in my view,
The first, a castle of old, a divine terror,
The second, a castle of joy, a dreamland,
But 'tis the third I am drawn to.

Castle of Broken Wings,
As I've heard it called before,
Where the bright, emerald grass
Grows brighter than on any other side,
And Gold dims in comparison
To the bright white of the castle walls.

Castle of Broken Wings.
Its name in itself,
A wonder to me,
This castle, unparallel
To anything I've e'er known,
Yes, a wonder.

Castle of Broken Wings,
Its brightness, blinding,
Surprises me, when
Darkness is what I expected
From this castle
Of lost dreams and torn hearts.

Castle of Broken Wings.
I suppose it is beautiful
On the inside only,
And I wonder
What darkness and terror lies,
Inside this wonder.

Castle of Broken Wings.
Its name in itself,
A wonder to me,
This castle, unparallel
To anything I've e'er known,
Yes, a wonder.

Castle of Broken Wings,
As I've heard it called before,
Where the bright, emerald grass
Grows brighter than on any other side,
And Gold dims in comparison
To the bright white of the castle walls.

I had heard something of a legend,
But I never believed its tale.
I see, in front of me, the proof,
As the broken-winged angels have taken flight,
Among the highest towers, a perfect light,
As they fly around the castle, in the dead of night.