Thursday, April 12, 2012

The Guide

When thoughts of beauty begin to wend
Their way down the stairs to contend
With the vile and grossness in the hall
That has become for us quite the fall
Of season's, where vile brown leaves
Do start to fall from the tops of trees.
Yet even as beauty descends her stair,
Is she caught up, made blind, unaware
Of the nets that were spread by the agents
Of winter's hand; so winter seeks springs land
By cruel force and cunning mind, brings bands
Of cold to wrap round beauties legs and feet,
And with malice and hatred he starts to beat
Her with the but of his sword which is ice,
Suspends her from the stairs highest heights, in
The malicious anger and envy he
Carries, intent to keep springs glee from hope,
By such tight evil bonds of snowy rope.
Still, though he thought himself victorious,
The leaves all gone from the trees and no fuss
To be heard about the stillness, and gloom
Beginning to settle down upon the hall,
He did not succeed in capturing all
Of beauty, could not make it thrall. For such
Is the plight of the spring, in her lovely grasp,
That she is ever tortured by death, fasts
In the summer of water, stomachs no
Bread; for her captors hold her, knowing of fear
Instead to be the better commander of her tears.
So do they seek to find her secrets out,
By which they may reign eternal about
In the lands of Questalamatia;
And would have succeeded realized full,
The secrets of the fire and the flame, whole
Knowledge of what they sought could they have had,
Were it not for spring's lover, gentle lad.
For when he roams through the halls of winter
He calls forth with a horn that doth splinter
The very earth and shake the rocks of hell;
For they never heard so clearly sung bells.
And going to her upon the stairs he
Catches winter's men at unawares;
So he leads her from the peril of doom,
And in their love is found springs boon. But then
He tarries not, and must go on to be
The messenger of the sun and to free
Him from unending space of cold and chill.
So does spring pine and labor ever still;
And in those summer fasts stores up passion
For her sweet and gentle lad of the sun.
But in the time that has past she grows weak,
And fall begins to work again and reeks
Foul perfumes through all of the land, seeks such
Domination that winter may command
The very essence of life itself, stands
Firm when his cold countenance reappears,
To bring spring such woes of strife and tears.
So shall winter ever seek to gain the
Secrets of the flame, but spring shall not say,
And in winter wanes to but a puddle
Of wax, needing the wick to befuddle
The Pax Winternarum that has now come,
And with it comes spring and lads gentle thrum.
So shall they shall fight for long years more in time,
Till the end of all things where springs true rhyme
Shall take form from the secret of the flame,
Then shall winter's hand know what he only named.
But in knowing it he will be to late to turn,
And his body shall be in torment burned.
Yet spring shall live evermore by the side
Of that fair and gentle lad her true guide.

                                                                The Guide, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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