The Scribe in the Woods of Time

There’s an ancient wood where nobody goes

That’s hid in the mists of time,

It covers a hundred miles or so

To the west of the Eden line;

The passengers on the rattling train

Will pull at the blinds, and stare,

But no-one’s game to get off the train

With the howl of the wolves out there!

 

And the stories told of walkers, who

Have never come back to tell,

Of monstrous birds that tore at their throats,

Of blood, congealed in a well;

There are cats out there as big as goats

The snakes are draped through the trees,

And vampire bats float down in a cloud

When there’s more than a passing breeze.

 

So none will venture into the wood

Not now, or in times gone by,

The bones that lie in the undergrowth

Are a lesson, for you and I;

But deep within is a clearing there,

A chimney that belches smoke,

A cottage door that is left ajar,

And hung on a hook, a cloak!

 

The cottage has stood there undisturbed

Since sixteen hundred and nine,

The man who sits at the writing desk

Is writing outside of time,

He whips up storms in the Balkans,

Conjures Thunderheads in the States,

With every swirl of his feather quill

Tornadoes twirl, or abate.

 

He hasn’t the time to trim his beard

It curls right down to the floor,

His eyebrows droop down over his eyes,

His hair is a nest, for sure;

Where eaglets peck, and nip at his scalp,

He brushes the birds away,

And dips his quill in the ink he spills

From the blood of an old dismay!

 

He marshals armies across the seas,

Prefers to put them to flight,

Their weapons gone as a harsh moon shone,

The soldiers melt in the night;

He topples Princes, he topples Kings

The fate of their wives is worse,

He packs them off to the guillotine,

But he always does it in verse!

 

Then when the sun sinks under the rim

Of the world in its daily round,

He sits in the cottage, cloaked in gloom

And his face turns into a frown;

Then he lifts his eyes to the stars above

Makes one of his heartfelt pleas:

‘Allow me to scribble ‘THE END’, my Lord!’

But a silence rings through the trees!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Mark]

I can't quite put words to the feelings this verse evokes from me--It is as though the old hermit were cursed to chronicle all, yet partake in nothing, and desires nothing so much as it's end. Perhaps, too, 1609 was a random date, chosen for it's metricity, but I am compelled to wonder what took place in that year, and who was cursed by those events to live outside of time, forever observing. His words seem to sway the courses of histories, yet he seems to be uncaring of all but his tedium. A really challenging piece, David, one of your finest.

[Becky C Strukamp]

what a beautiful flow of words, masterfully inked, each stanza evokes a new thought process that continues the tale to the end!

[Amila Jay]

Wow! This is awesome!!! I love the write .. the use of words is superb .. Brilliant poem it is :))

[Revolutionary]

You are awesome.I love this poem.The flow is perfect.The wording is exquisite.The theme is original.I love it.

[Manpreet]

Vow amazing work here!

[Katannaism]

I really enjoyed this piece. Every stanza just captivated me even more. I couldn't get bored with any of the words written. Also loved how everything is just expressed so gorgeously. Great piece!

[WhiteWillow]

It seems an author's work is never done. An enjoyable piece.

[A.r. Bazian]

amazing my friend!
another one!
another poem of glorious verses! with much weight put down on me!
a staggering scheme, of widowed mercers, the latter would rage not flee!
all inside this worthless head,
where whirlwind nights entwine...
alinger deathly, on this bed,
of red blood hopes and wine!

my God!

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed this story. I like the story of old. Myth and storyteller is a lost skill. I enjoyed the trip into the forest and the epic trip into time. The ending made the poem complete. Thank you for the outstanding poem.
Coyote

[xRetroCortx]

Simply Amazing

[Bidu Ibrahim]

Wow!