A Chilling Effect

This is the way of things, cried the king.
Relentless, perpetual rain.

A flood ordained, sent not to cleanse;
but to churn the silt to the surface

that you may lap at its muddy shore
while martinets kick down the door.

Is there asylum on higher ground
where screams are curious music

and you suffer in silhouette even as
the surge licks at your heels?

This is where history
will find you,

pressing the truth
to the roof of your mouth

and snapping the wings
off your dreams.