Pretending to be mute was hard enough...But it helped with survival,
And that is what mattered wasn’t it? Living for some greater purpose -
And ‘Here-Boy’ as he was simply known
Supposed it had all come down to this...
After years of watching the cruel wizard take and take, deceiving peasants,
Courtiers, and kings...Here-Boy had been left alone with the Master’s books.
And especially the eldest that held the deepest secrets...
The One that he’d read over the old transformers shoulders
The body that was most often bent and huddled when not presented in some
Masked form of youth, agility and effervescent cunning.
Here-Boy didn’t even know if he was really an orphan or if he had just been
‘Pressed’ into service for the role he was about to play...
Which if caught would most certainly be the last thing he would ever do, he thought...
There on the center table was the oldest spell book, surely it had to have been stolen
From its’ rightful owner because it was truly the only thing of real beauty that existed
Within the dank and damp tower walls of this fortress
Slowly Here-Boy approached the book - For he felt that he had been personally invited...
More than once perhaps hundreds of times in preparation for this moment
Gifted with careful instructions as the pages gracefully turned themselves
To give him guidance and encouragement over his seemly lengthy internment
This silver full lit blue moon provided all the necessary light for gently bathing
The parchment pages - And with the wizard gone to charm the riches from
Another kingdom, supposedly the old man would not be able to return fast enough to stop
Here-Boy’s utterances’ that would destroy every evil twisted scheme torn from this book
It seemed the gilded eye within the pyramid that adorned the cover winked just before
Turning to almost the very middle of the book where the hint of a hidden page seemed
Unfold with its’ elegant script just waiting for Here-Boy and his virgin voice to softly sing
And repeat the spell until each and every word turned into a bird and flew out the window...
April 25, 2012 written for Douglas Robersons’ prompt:
Process notes: the last verse, well actually the last line was the first thing I thought of when I saw Douglas' artwork. And thus another story-poem is borne...