S I X

Our young man’s bed
Had once more made
Itself without his service,

With no concern
Of sleeps sojourn,
Or meanings in its purpose.

So seeking charts
To further parts
Of forest than before,

He set to chase
His father’s pace
Until he had him caught.

But as he packed
His camping sack
A fell hand rose to halt him,

And whilst it hurt
‘Twas not the burn
Of his past nighttime’s haunting.

It turned him round,
And pointed out
A fact he had neglected,

What if his dad
Was homeward bound,
Not wanderlust affected.

So bargaining
With everything
He’d left of worth to barter,

He sent a bird
To carry word
Back home about his father.

And news was raised
Without delay,
And sent to every tent,

And wagon trail,
And minstrel way,
And little known merchant.

And carefully
The traders eased
Him back into himself;

It would not do
For him to prove
Unworthy of their help.

For eldritch lore
Held their rapport,
With unknown souls, in place,

And knowledge keeps
Itself asleep
When being pursued by haste.

So sitting back
He let their knack
Of knowing things proceed,

As one by one
The caravans
Of creatures all agreed.

And as he ate
His breakfast late,
A circuit thronged about him;

With open arms
And every charm
Available for touting.

As goods were switched,
And often mixed,
But seldom swapped for worse,

And all who left
Smiled wide as if
They’d bargained off a curse.

And by the dim
Of evening
A grand bonfire was lit,

Where round a wad
Of people shod
Their tales of age old myth:

Of common sense
Lost in defence
Of countless contradictions,

Or traded for
The tools of war,
To keep it from affliction;

Of status won
With laughter’s boon
Before the face of fear,

And loyalties
Cemented with
The odd barrel of beer.

And on they went
Until the scent
Of sandalwood delighted,

And amber ash
Encouraged less
Of them to be excited.

So our lad stood,
As all guests should,
And told his dreaming tale,

And silence fell
As if a knell
Of death had been exhaled.