In the Chambers

Henry Hanlon

In the chambers bright and cold, The men all speak and write of gold. Above the herd sit morning larks, And to their words the still birds hark. They talk until the day grows old, Debating all that’s bought and sold. And as the men talk through the dark, Like hammered steel, their words like sparks. Their vigor flames, their prose more bold, And the birds cannot but behold, For stinging words have left their mark, The young man’s face is seething, stark. By only wrath is he controlled. And from his coat, a knife he’ll hold.

The Turtle

Saniyah Mager scratchboard