Date: March 2021

Theme: please

Word Count: 360

Title: The Forlorn Fringes

Summary: Two boys navigate the adversities of a post-war world, looking for and asking for answers of each other.

Time has no meaning here,
In this dark tower on the sea.
There is no day nor night, no sunrise nor sunset,
Only the calls of gulls echoing 'cross the gulf.

Mark time in these liminal spaces, my boy,
In heartbeats and bodily functions
Between sleeping and waking.
In the clatter of a tray—stale bread, bruised fruit—
The splatter of a strewn cup followed by
The scuff of boots on a stone floor.

There is Before, but no After.
There is Remember, but not Anticipate.
There is future— perhaps— distant —someday, one day—
But the present is only the PAST,
Silken and withered as the sediment on the shore.

Consider, then, my boy, that there is
No you,
Nor me,
To even think of you,
Here on the forlorn fringes of Albion.

Don't look for heaven nor hell, here, my boy,
The gods do not grace these sinners
The masses sentenced to purgatory.
Dike's counsel carried forth by the Dread Goddesses—
Justice on the one, Vengeance on the other—
Spins the wheel of that fractured fraternity.

But, once upon a time, lightning cracks
O'er the squalling sea and sweeps in
A golden hero, a mortal Saviour— He,
Twice-born, of Rhea and Aphrodite.

A faithful sentinel, He strides and stills
To silence upon these Asphodel fields
His arms crossed, his jaw clenched,
His blazing eyes damning, his steady hands
Singeing from the crackle of the thunderbolt.

Beg of him for answers— go ahead, try,
In desperate entreaty, please—
Haltingly, rasping— ask him:
Of the Lady, of the Maiden, of the Lad next door;
Ask him, my boy, for news of the world from Before.

He answers with judgment sharpened by grief.
He answers with condemnations muddied by contrition,
The mixture sprinkled with unwelcome pity.
He answers with questions of when and wherefore,
The whys and why nots of youthful yore.

What was there to recommend you, my boy?
A mother's love? A father's joy?
Wits wasted in adolescent chicanery,
Fodder for Pride's ambition. Irresolute in conviction,
Nothing but fear within and defeat without.

In this dark tower on the sea, my boys
Reach for solace and hope
From the shackles of destiny.

A/N: Hi! Thank you for reading this, my first foray into poetry in many years. I'd love to hear your impression/understanding of this work. I know it was a little bit vague, so below is my vision for this drabble.

In this universe, Draco has been sentenced to Azkaban for his part in the war. It is, perhaps, a bit unfair, as there's a hint that his sentencing may have been a way for the government to create unity in their fractured post-war society. Harry, who did not speak up for Draco, is dealing badly with the fallout from the war; he's filled with grief, anger, and resentment at the part he was forced to play and the lives lost despite his efforts. He's an Auror, who comes to Azkaban, perhaps on patrol or during training, and sees Draco. Draco, who hasn't anything to look forward to but ruminate on the past, asks him for news of his mother and his friends-this is the only thing he cares about. Harry, in turn, questions and reprimands him about his poor decisions (or lack thereof), even as he can't help but feel a little guilt and pity.

I wanted their connection here to be two-fold:
(1) they have both been set on their paths to their current situation by destiny; and
(2) they are both looking for and asking of each other for answers, but there are no answers to be given.
Or at least, only unsatisfactory ones, as they try to navigate the adversities of their lives.