Tales of Yore

Fri, 08/02/2013 - 11:47 -- Oloryn

Locations

24441
United States
38° 13' 21.2808" N, 78° 48' 56.1996" W
24441
United States
38° 13' 21.2808" N, 78° 48' 56.1996" W

As I stand here speaking,

Somewhere there are floorboards that are creaking.

Under the foot of an aged man,

Who shall regale you in the very tales of old.

 

Within his study, by the fire, he does sit,

Surrounded and in the happy company of memories.

The shelves are full of volumous tomes,

Brimming with the knowledge never to be told.

 

The man himself, beyond his years,

Sits in robes, draped with tears.

And upon these robes there rests a beard of once the purist white,

Now grayed with dust from those most volumous tomes of old.

 

The keeper of the secrets of time shall he now be known,

A saddened note to fall on such a star who forever shown,

High above the world a place of glee,

Now forever and anon he shan’t be happy.

 

Robbed was he of love, robbed he was of life,

Robbed was he of Lineage and of wife.

For love was stolen child bearing,

Now he sits there forever caring.

 

There he sits, draped in robes,

Reading passages forever from his most volumous tomes of old.

Tomes sit now about him as to entomb,

And thou shalt see soon enough the master of lore’s tomb of old.

 

The dust sits as a layer of snow freshly fallen,

As he dreams of his life that has been stolen.

Far from him the life was drained,

All his life spent with strain.

 

Straining, yearning, to hold what was lost so long ago,

Forever filled with burning that only tears of those he loved might extinguish.

Now he shall lie and rest, slumber in the eternal sleep,

Till the moon dies and the sun turns cold, He shall dream of what is his by right,

And shall pass a saddened soul.

Comments

Clio Texana

Beautifully melancholy -- makes me curious about more of this gentleman's story.

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