The Story-Teller

On dusty road in a tavern old
'fore a hearth of flick'ring flame,
a story-teller his tales told
such terror best left un-named.

And his list'ners heard with bated breath
of such journeys dark and long,
deeds of fighting Lords and evil death,
so he sang in evening song.

Of painted battles through dark'ning night
and adventures he regaled,
his old eyes filled with a shining light
of the glory in his tales.

But then suddenly he spoke no more,
and they saw his eyes grow dim,
he left the fire, shambled to the door
and a sadness followed him.

And they cried for him to let them see
what had stabbed so at his heart,
then he shook his head but did agree
one last time to ply his art.

'Tis a tale I've never said before,
in all the quests I've told
for I've feared to open sorrow's door
and to feel the yawning cold.

For 'tis not a song of valiant deeds
and for that it may seem pale.
It's the story of a Lady's needs
and the Knight who filled her tale.

She'd resigned her self to loneliness
when one night her heart was bound
to a man who filled her emptiness
with a joy she'd never found.

And M'Lady he did christen her,
and he took her in his arms,
"I am your Knight" he did then aver,
"your protection from all harm."

And the love he sent with gentleness,
kindled wanting faith anew,
and she blossomed in his tenderness,
as a Rose 'neath morning's dew.

Golden fantasies she drew for him,
and sweet roads of crystal dreams
where they walked in sun and shadows dim,
and sang love by meadow's streams.

Though her passion was a yearning part
of each moment that they shared,
it was always love that filled her heart,
with soft tenderness and care.

And the poems were never fantasy,
although that is what they seemed,
they were means to say reality,
that deep within she dreamed.

But he never saw the truth she spoke,
still he didn't think she lied,
he just thought it was a dream evoked,
from the loneliness inside.

And the more she tried to make him see,
and to fill him with her care,
then the more he struggled to be free
of the need he witnessed there.

So he left her on an empty road
with a rose for memory,
and she knew not why, but then he told
of another he would see.

And the anger black in which she dwelt
was the pain from which she'd run,
and the hurtful words she finally dealt
came from all the love undone.

A dying hope rode a storm dark stream
of the care he said was born,
for a Lady who had always dreamed
in a garden built of thorns.

It softly spoke what he would not hear
the truth of how she cared,
a whispered hope now enlaced in fear
but for always she'd be there.

She put her soul in his heart with care
then laid softly in his mind,
and her gentle touch was hidden there
for a lonely self to find.

And if ever on a darkling day
he might feel a loneliness,
she was with him as he made his way
through the yawning emptiness.

Then the story-teller said no more,
as if finished with the tale,
and again he shambled toward the door
in a dying firelight pale.

They cried to him, "but it's still undone,
with no ending we can see.
Has the Knight returned, and has she won,
is their love what it should be?

But they witnessed hurt within his eyes,
felt the darkness fill the day,
and in sadness then tried to deny
what they knew he would now say.

And he spoke these final telling words,
though they seemed to break his heart,
they're the last his list'ners ever heard,
as if sorrow killed his art.

In wistfulness yet the Lady waits,
'mongst the thorns her need did sow,
and a petaled path leads from the gate
to her heart where love still grows.

She will write no more of gentle Knight
of the castles, dreams and steeds,
of the Lady who is his by right,
nor of fate's unkindest deeds.

But she walks with him in memory,
and his laughter fills her mind,
and the strength on which she often leans
is still there for her to find.

And the bond she's found she cannot break,
she has placed deep in her heart,
and the one soul that she hoped they'd make,
is now treasured in her art.

Though she knows not when he will return,
if he walks his dreams with her,
she guards the hope her heart still yearns
for the care they always were. ©

~RAC  4-17-99