2 - Timber

Angel shrieks kill what is left of the night,
furious flashing tails and glowing wings,
horror of another session, another time before they existed
but the Witch knows all the things she was born to do.
Doors burst with the colors of home,
an island, heat and ocean,
but that is where they from; to where will they return?
Electric stuttering from the red Knight
calms the air of true fear,
leaves only rehearsed fear and sudden fear that knocks the breath out of warriors.
A snap -
tower that stretches its hands to the black sky returns
hard to the city pavement,
hard to sharply dressed ministry workers,
hard to the wandering queen's certain assistant,
a dream of gold and shimmer gone of heaven's verdict.
The Witch opens the door.
There is no place like home.