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.

[Tate Morgan]

I think this is a grand tale and holds just a bit to the author here >I understand the unending need to create

[Chris]

Some "sins" carry weight and substance... and though from the tale her blueblood wasn't shed... his solitude tells the direction of her choice.

This was grand...

[Lena M. P.]

I'm voting this as one of your best. You have penned the writers hell in all it's glory. The lore spun into this piece is truly a treat and the imagery made me smile. My hat's off again to the unmatchable bard!

[patricia]

A happy rollercoaster, I didnt want to get off. You have cheered me up. I dont know how you do it, but I am glad you can write like this, and I am even gladder I get to read it. This is going in my library. Thanks David.

[aram aram]

Where was the lion,where were the pigs, where was the son who would cary on his mist. How was it that this forest is inviting but passangers flew over its leaves, and what about sounds that crickets ping and what about the labor that the ants put in under our feet. A brush stroke can compell a billion in wind but a color missed is a world that should be embraced and finished. I for one, am tittle bit little big, on crippled freaks who're needle imps.

Good to see you David, very omniscient.

[roarke]

and so it is, the pen mightier than the sword.
A vast saga, time/history, perception, the tale of the immutable universe. How deftly you create the setting, the gravity to walk down the hallowed halls and peek behind the curtains of time. Well done.

[Leah]

Sublime. Just... Absolutely fantastic. There's nothing more I can say.