Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... Yard

The midnight clings to dwarfish kings 
while robot drones, adorning thrones,
       kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
       grace FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.    

The diplohacks, like melting wax,
have swept along the clueless throng,
       some dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Beyond the streams, a raven screams
at loser fish that swarm and swish;
       Nun slowly drains her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
       near FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
the hierarch obeys the bark
       from maw that oozes pure...lard. 
There's much ado throughout the zoo
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Well, FRiar’s pets are in a sweat;
he calls the tunes near burning dunes
       and taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms, their future tombs,
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
reciting verse near FRiar’s hearse,
       extolling wild the van...guard.
Remote controls abet the trolls
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.
 
With faces straight, in bent debate,
they advertise their empty lies 
       to every passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

With ghouls, unlearned, no stone’s unturned
to burnish blame with Nun’s proud name
       and leave the midnight sky... scarred.
They raise their hats to copy cats
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

While rumours spread amongst the dead,
Nun stays the pace with saving grace,
       and phantoms keep their face...marred.
The maggot digs neath twisted twigs 
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

In tempests strong, Nun rings the gong
but fails to rise in vacant eyes -
       he palms a one-eyed trump...card.
Nun sets her sail, to no avail
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Nun asks him why a bird can’t fly.
His mouth, a rut, replies “tut, tut”,
       with conscience painted white...tarred.
A mushroom mold has taken hold
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

“To fly aloft," he laughed and scoffed
“lay bare your breast! I’ll do the rest,
       I’ll bless you in the church...yard”.
The golden rule's contrived for fools
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

He cast the bait and wouldn't wait -
once more defied, her wings denied,
       the Kingfish is a bass...tard.
A 'no' said twice must pay the price 
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.
 
When day’s undone, and night’s begun,
Nun stirs a cup and turns face up;
       she's feeling that she’s ill...starred.
’Tis such a crime to waste her prime
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Nun plans to dine with sparkling wine
but sips instead a bitter red 
       served with a crystal glass...shard,
Behind the bog, beneath the fog
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Well, minstrels fight beyond the night
and demons fete behind the gate,
       while silence chokes the host...bard.
The angel sings with broken wings  
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

The webs are spun neath dying sun;
and caught ensnared, her flight impaired,
       Nun’s thoughts are how they’ll die...hard.
The puppet people storm the stee-
       pled FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

And voices wail beyond the pale
“The old taboo - it echoes true -
       Nun’s bound to have her way...barred”.
The schemes are strange and minds deranged
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Ms.! Cast your nets, but hedge your bets -
there are no odds, where purple gods
       and hungry idle ghosts...sparred
with nameless gnomes in catacombs
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.