where no stars in the sky, blood moon
at its lowest of crusted , attune
To the sighing wail of the wind across the stones
all shattered on the sides as if some
great troop had passed and left a tomb
of rusted helmets and bent shafts, blades alone.
He spied a huddled shadow, small fire of crumbled fags,
and called out to the hunched figure twisted
to the tiny flames, what night was this listed
as to have no light at all. The figured shifted rags
to look with fiery eyes of fear, hot confusion,
will then there be no bloodshed of my notion?
The boy held poniard tight against this tide of mads.
"Find it elsewhere, it shall be," croaked the hag over the tiny pyre,
"leave now this one alive, at peace in the night,
'You follow messengers of the darkest sight."
Then young man started upon the sharp stones edged to tire
the strongest limbs without constant rest and ease.
The tufts, if grass were dry, hard, not much to please,
As he sat rubbing his feet, approached swinging a blowing fire.
A portly figure robed in brown strode barefoot among the rocks,
to sit himself by the boy and draw a flask of red wine,
pouring first upon his feet, then offered libation's shine.
"No, I have water," said the boy, the friars frown, stopped clocks.
"Tis the great gift of Jesus boy, just one sip as is meet.
The boy choked down a swallow sour and did earn his keep
with this holy man, who drained the skin to hollow and loosened his frocks.
"What do you boy on this barren road to nowhere? I go to mission
up in the godforsaken hills of sheepherders and swine."
"I look for light that will lead me on my true chosen line,"
said the young man as drew his legs to arms and held forth for a session,
but the friar nodded and turned his nose with a finger bent,
"The God has sent you a journey far, for there is no light meant.
Up that road of shattered slate there is no dawn to ask questions."
"Then how came you, squire, to travel this road back to day's light?
"My faith held me upon my path, for the dark, while not
short, is not far as it seems in the ebony shadows caught."
"Then there is light," exclaimed the boy. "Only if you look right,"
said the man of God. No more would he say, but shared
his poor bowl of mead with currants, in silence impaired,
only by the call of nightland creatures, who roamed with no sight.
After resting for an hour, the young man took up his one staff,
ragged sandals and gave them to the man of brown cloth,
whose feet were purple and cut. "I cannot these in troth,
for thy journey is longer than my own," said the monk. But laugh
did the boy, as he ran down the road, "We shall see
who finishes first, for I am young and heal well verily,"
he shouted to the lack of shadows, and the wide and stony path.
He ran until his feet were bloody shreds and he crawled on knees,
he crawled until his knees were bared to gristle and bone,
but he kept up his head for eyes wide to see calling to home,
which he'd never seen except in dreams, so the dark robed seers
lifted no fear to fill his throat, as the dimmest light of sunrise
cast their three shadows upon him, and they stood most wise
to block his path. "We have three questions, you must appear."
"The first is who are we?" said the middle cowled figure. "You
are light and darkness and death," the young man answered.
The three robed head bowed together. The second proffered,
"And what is light?" The young boy told, " You are the living true,
, the joy and sorrow, the pain and resting." The tallest of robes
stepped forward on the stones to say, "Young man, now road
the hardest question, what am I then? "You stand tallest and blue,
for you, you are darkness and death, love's despair and peace."
"Why say you peace?" asked, the tallest. "Why the struggle of peace cannot
be achieved,"said the young man," on this earth of greed, avarice, thievery,
and deception, of lies, of all the weaknesses, sly smiles, the infidelities
that make us men. No gold cloths, silver chalices appease a God lover thought
all forgiving in mercy for the repentant soul, the soul that will cast away
the jeweled trappings of wealth, that will kneel in the dirt of the past to stay,
and eat of sin, to spit it out rivers and drink of waters purest strength ever wrought.
The three cowls turned from black to white of glistening sun as the horizon rose
above a path of golden cobbled wide and set close to greenest of grasses
adorned with flowers of the painter's palette, too many for the eye to grasp.
Crystal castles with slender glass towers sported flags of golden hues far arose
of slender sloped hills with no walls or moats to surround them, no need,
as villages roofed in gilt plied their wares with open, relaxed laughs to lead
him up the path, towards love, family, he would be called a guide, white rose.
� 2000 DPMcClellan
