On the Occasion of a
Chance Visit to Leicester Square, London W1D 6AP
In the third millennium of
the Seventh Age,
unwise Men under ill counsel
seek again
the power of
Barad-dûr, raising anew
the Black Tower, with bricks
crimson
and ebon, forged in fire,
moulded with steel.
Fools, all! One cannot spawn
Sauron,
Gorthaur the Cruel,
Melkors First,
Morgoths Finest, and
hope to contain him
within a LEGO Icons set no.
10333!
From a thousand emporia and
eighty
issues forth the Iron Crown,
the Helm
of Malice, the Head-dress of
High Doom,
no. 11373 with minifig and
mini-Ring
volcanic hot on the heels of
the Balrogs
Book Nook, no. 10367 Demon
of Might
holding Learning at bay.
Thus in Men
is rekindled such Desire as
better forgotten,
thus is cast across the
lands a New Shadow.
The blacksmith whets another
broadsword
beneath the Fortress, blade
shrieking on stone,
his chef colleague searing
meat just delivered.
Gothmog, Lieutenant of
Morgul, raises a toast
to the Time of the Orc;
Sauron broods on throne
while his Mouth preens. What
hope have Men
against such reckless craft
by the Toymaker?
Squeezing past the horde,
fleeing the store,
lulling to sleep again
Darkness in my heart.