|
let my inspiration flow through token rhyme suggesting rythm that will not forsake me till my tale is told and done
while the fire lights' aglow
strange shadows from the flames, will grow, till things we've never seen, will seem familiar
shadows of the sailor forming and winds both foul and
fair all swarm down in carlisle he loved a lady many years ago
Here beside him stands a man; a soldier from the looks of him, who came through many fights, but lost at love
while the storyteller speaks a door within the fire creeks; suddely flies open and a girl is standing there. Eyes of light with flowing hair; all thats fancy paint as fair, she takes her bed of roses in the lions' den.
Which of you to gain me tell wlll risk uncertain pains of hell?
I will not forgive you if you will not take the chance.
sailor gave at least a try. The soldier being much too wise; strategy was his strength and not disaster.
sailor coming out again; the lady barely looked at him. Thats how it stands today, if you decxide if he was wise.
storyteller makes no choice. soon you will not hear his voice. his job is to shed light and not to master...
since the end is never told, we paint the tellet off in gold.
we hope he will come back. for he casnnot be bought or sold.
inspiration moving brightly, like the sun with sense and color
more than this i will not ask faced with mysteries gone and past
some rise
some fall
some climb
to get to
terrapin
|
|
