Steerpike Poem by Kevin Patrick

High in a forest of crumbling towers
Striding through gables, of ivy and stone
The kitchen boy lingers, and quietly ponders
Watching his country of the castle; along

For its long parapets and mile high spires
He plans to escape from his roots of servitude
With the cunning of a fox and politeness of a liar
He is a ragged prince, standing firmly resolute

Amidst the fading masonry of arcane ruin
His Destiney is written by his wily hands
From hells kitchens to the novice of physician
Nothing can withstand his sly ambitions planned


Not the earl’s footman or the countess of crows
Can perceive to delay the blueprints of his mind
With a dash of arson, and word to fools sowed
He rises to the Master where ceremonies thrives


And as he leaps fast, over the ramparts mast
His pallid features brood with shaded incline
Sitting on his thrown he’s the desperate outcast
Disarmed with blind passion, of a plotters outline

To rule as the rouge or kneel as the servant
Its Steerpikes lament, that necessity commands
To be a delinquent saint of guileful mischief
For fates enslaves villains and dark ambitions planned