The Dragon [A story by the Travaling Troubadour]

A Fable much like Aesop's

I will tell thee of a man, I will sing of a man in love.

He carries only the weapon of his choice, the mandolin.

His heart is unshielded from the arrows of Cupid.

AAh Love doth tax it's apostles, promising sweet rewards,

rewards beyond measure if the toll be paid.

 

Love ignites a flame that burns the heart, fills the soul

with a passion. This fire's roar fills the lover's ear

he sees none other than the belov-ed, hearing

only the flame's roar as it comsumes his heart, his reason.

 

His love was gentle, sweet songs he sung to win the lady's heart

they filled her ears and she smiled upon him.

When it came to pass that he suspected another

had entered the lists to compete for her love;

 

Jealousy reared it's dragon's head, Jealousy,

that monster hast killed thousands without a sword

for barbed words doth do the foul deed.

Words spoken out of time with only the urge to hurt.

 

The Devil is a great orator and knows full well the grammar

of wounding words, the poison of unfounded accusation.

His words flow smoothly, His sentences are polished.

The charges hurled at the unsuspecting are barbed and sharp,

they pierce the heart deeply and are almost impossible to extract.

 But if not extracted the love within that heart dies. As for the wounds caused

 they remain forever.

 

So lovers beware for that man at this poem's start succumbed to the siren song

 of the monster losing forever the love of his lady, for he foolishly believed the twisted lies of the forked tongued, green-eyed dragon.

 

"I beg her forgiveness

for the mad thing I have done.

I will sing no more of love

for I have betrayed her.

 

Not with another, with myself.

I have lost her, jealous boor that I am

for when she glances at another man

I want to challange him.

 

Our every happiness I have destroyed.

Therefore it is only just that she ignore my plea.

She hast pardoned me countless times

for my insanely jealous rages.

 

She is the noble one, I the buffon.

If she cast me aside that would be the best remedy,

yet hope springs eternal within her breast.

 

That she loves only me she hast sworn to numerous times.

 Yet let her but smile at another and I begin to doubt.

 fantasies flood my mind, jealousy, blood lust fill my heart.

 "This man is my enemy, this man must die!"

 

The blow is struck, the gauntlet thrown... A cry tears from her throat

tears fill her eyes, for she hast bourne witness to this before,

 her heart shrivels with every duel I fight.

 She hast vowed to leave me if I see this through.

 

The challange is answered, the die hast been cast...

I know that in reality she hast no feelings for this "gentleman"

This callow youth who dared return her smile.

 

My rage knows no bounds,

the time, place and weapons have been chosen,

The fateful day arrives, dawn breaks grey and somber;

Someone will die today because of an innocent smile.

 

Yet I cannot find it within myself to end this bloodlessly.

 To do so would brand me a cuckold and a coward.

 I am neither. That she has been true I do not doubt

 Yet I cannot turn away.

 

I feel the ball go deep in my chest,

 the young man is crying---perhaps

I wounded him--- a smile curls my lips--- I fall.

 

As they carry me from the field, I see her tears

only in my mind. She left this morning

after one final plea--- I will miss her----

but not for long----

 perhaps it is for the best---"

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

How did you, my readers enjoy the story?

Reviews

[Chris38]

Well I enjoyed it a great deal indeed. A brilliant story told in verse.