Choice of the Free-born — by Winter’s King (subscriber verse)

I see her time is ended, I see the sun go down,

for all about old England’s freedom:

the light drowns.

Those she had adopted,

Those she had took in,

all at once betrayed her: the doom came from within…

…rulers rendered cowards, by baseless empty threats,

the foreign wolf grew bolder, and thought not of regrets.

For though the people cried, ‘Leave we must and soon’—

let no ungrateful sons dictate us; for who?

Who are they to tell us,

that all our ways are wrong?

Why do they curse the free-born sun:

that spirit made us strong.

Why do they lash against those who brought them hence?

Why is it that our leaders tolerate all of this?

These questions still unanswered as now old Lords rebel,

and still find ways to treason simple folk that fed them well.

For when the people cried out fear at what they saw and dread,

those who’d claimed to fight did nought: made lies of all they said

They fled and hid and cowered fearing empty words could bite,

that tiny pain was all they knew of solemn sacrifice.

Now chestless men do shuffle,

their papers back and forth,

and dictate ‘better future men!’: with no past to face true north

They slink and slime they do us right, bonding all in chains;

they spin a smile for we the people, sharpen blade behind crooked back.

Oh Men, good men, you must now not shrink in foe-wrought fear,

for the time of freedom’s life or death is surely drawing near,

Think upon your ties of kin to spirit what you do

for in the end, the lone way forth: spur the blood’s lance through,

no way but English Courage, blazed in hopeless black

Forge the pattern forward, a future bright and true.

All that is Good,

all that is great,

Lives or dies; flags and fails,


Slurred ‘common, thick and foolish’ humble Middle England—