the castle

the young noble stared at the orchid bloom tapestry
the blazing braziers, and sighed, heartily
as the queen spun to her chambers once again furious
and the room chattered like a rain stricken henhouse
above a soft frown the young noble’s eyes 
moved to the window, for a new artistry arrived
the glass was stained with the bodies of angels
and he felt his hatred for the castle, burning
and he felt his hatred for that stained glass, burning
no longer could he see the blue skies and chalkmarks
or the shaking foliage of the nearby ash trees
or the long green fields with the families of farmhands
their own dreams drifting from hatred of the castle