The Sugar Quill
Author: H. P. King  Story: A Collection of Poems  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

A Collection Of Poems.

Notes - I wrote these five poems in the space of two days, during an extremely boring Christmas holiday. Hope you enjoy them.

Disclaimer - Any characters that appear belong to J.K, as well as the 'world' the poems are based in. The title to 'Like A Rolling Stone' belongs to Bob Dylan, and he was the poems main inspiration. 

Like A Rolling Stone (the ballad of
Lucius Malfoy.)

Lucius Malfoy was a man of substance,
So they said among the gentlemen's clubs
Where the nobility wined and dined.
The better half of society possessing
Of a higher moral fabric. A key
Member of the establishment, with your five cars
And your country estate and your contacts
Among the aristocracy. Your charming looks.
Yes, I know you're well known to men
Who walk the corridors of powers.

                                   But I forsee
Your little empire returning into earth,
And leaving your scarred body without form.
An unknown. A Rolling Stone.

The truth. It proved too profound, too pure,
To live with it you'd have to explode.
Your past had too many ghosts in closets
Which returned to haunt you. Favors owed
Which cannot be undone. And a voice,
It's stance growing unilateral. 
Shadows move in corners. Whisperers
Whispering louder than a thousand screams.
You close your ears and eyes, pass through yourself,
Come back again. You have not changed. You can't escape.

"What's that under the dining room floor Lucius!"

                That lonesome bell tone
Which echoes everlasting.
And your stretch-marked body now,
You find yourself abandoned. All Alone
A Rolling Stone

Note – Inspired partly by the character in the text, partly by some personal feelings, partly by the song from which the title is taken - Bob Dylan’s epic 'Like A Rolling Stone'

War drums.

The little drummer boy. His sound  
Creates a ripple through the fabric of time.  
And soon the hour will arrive  
When storms will rage all through the sky,
And the guns will be silent no longer.

The scar it burns ever fiercer,  
The beat it grows ever faster.  
The war dance is approaching.

Tonight, a sudden movement, a pulse  
On command of the dark lord  
Who sits silently mustering force.  
Soon the battle will be fought,  
Terraced thousands will die by sword.  
A crashing crescendo.

And when all this is done and gone,
The only sound to linger on,  
Save weeping mourner’s tears of grief
Will be the little drummer boy, marching on.

Note – the poem concerns the build-up of events as I see them, at the end of Book 4 – the undeniable presence created by Voldermorts return, and anticipation of the battle ahead.

Last thoughts on Cederic Diggory.

If there comes a time when your way should falter  
Along that stony path,  
If night should linger everlasting  
And freedom seems so very, very far,  
Remember Cederic

When you feel that long, black cloud coming down,  
Hold on; do not refrain.  
And when you tread the verge of wrong and Right,  
Do not fall away into that dark night,  
Remember Cederic.

  (“Remember what happened to a boy  
Who was good, and kind, and brave  
Because he strayed across the path  
Of Lord Voldermort”)

Don't Go Back.

   for Ron

Looking around one more time you step through the door to the last train.
You're going someplace far away then nobody can feel your pain.
Going where no-ones really real like reflections in a mirror,
Wind up in some dark and empty street just a little nearer.
And you'll find you're by yourself but that's alright
Cause she's here too drifting like a satellite
Through the smoke rings of your mind
And then you find
You can't escape her.

And I know that you'll be back soon,
Back before too long.

At night you drink too much. You get drunk and try to forget,
Then drift away into valentine where you can pretend
Cause she still surrounds you in your sleep
And it's easier when your thoughts are all at sea
To build these visions of a world well lost
Without yet having to realize the cost
Of knowing she's not here.
And sitting and watching another year
Pass by without remark.

But I know you'll be back soon,
In her arms, where you belong.

And on that long-distance train
Rolling through the rain,
You pass through the valley of stone
Your mind now seems like a map,
The stars they turn to black
But you've just gotta find your way back home.

Her eyes like smoke
In which the moonlight swims.
The shimmering starlight
Or her voice like hymns.
You could not forget
Her ghost like soul
Which comes flooding back now,
Or her heart of gold.

But that midnight stroll
Through the ruins of past times,
These hallowed visions
That conquer your mind,

They are all that remain..

                    (Don't go back
And waste another year.)

Note - inspired by Mrs. Weasley's 'The Best Man.' R/H fluff.

The End.

Do not doubt that we are
coming closer to the end,

for though our hero’s path is long and winding,
he will eventually find his place
as surely as a river flows to the sea.

  And then Mr. Harry Potter shall be no more

than a distant memory. Ms. Rowling’s writings,
resigned to history.   

But do not let it trouble you too much
my friend, for we all pass away in the end,
into history –

    – into the greatest book of all,
which nobody can write, nor forsee.

  (Last night I dreamed I saw
eternity stretched out before me,
like the setting sun against the summer sky,

and it was bigger than you or me,
bigger than Ms. Rowling,

or all the people of the world hand in hand)

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