A Vain Peasant in King Arthur's Court

i was once an artist's brush,

the minstrel's strings in early spring.

i was the touch of a pixie's dust

fairies sprinkled over children's dreams.

i was the hero's humblest hope,

i was love's indelible flames.

Now i'm so afraid of growing old,

I live alone, below my lake.

I've since retired as inked quill,

winter's chill has broken thy guitar

but, the quietly whispering minstrels will

carefully construct this song:

Oh, he was alive! 

And just like us

in that, he died 

as will we, and such.

 

Reviews

[Marina]

i'm amazed at the way you put words together. the rhyming and alliteration even hidden within the middle of the sentence or word sounds really good! the couplet at the end is so beautiful and striking, i could hear a human voice speaking it to me rather than my own inner voice reading... great job!

[Joshua Carl Cruz]

most kind thanks for the gracious response and i will keep reading so keep writing!!

[Carol Cashes]

All those "things" you were as inked quill. Writers do become what they write, regardless of their "real" life. Another gem, Joshua.