The Broken Wall

A poem with horrible rhyme and rhythm, but at least there's (sort of) a story to it.

Long ago, in times medieval,

Lay a town of prosperous farms.

Many large homes lined the wide streets,

But the countryside made up the real charm.

A merry little town it was,

In a lush valley of green grass,

Trees of red and orange from fall,

And streams and ponds resembling glass.

Yet a place of mystery it seemed,

As though peaceful, a wall was seen.

Off in the distance, barely in view,

This matte block let off no sheen.

But back in the outskirts of the large town

Was a little farmhouse, owned by a peasant.

A family of 6, with mother and children,

All who met them found them quite pleasant.

With fire crackling in the pit,

A large meal on the stove,

With the horses braying, sheep-dogs barking,

The whole home was a welcoming cove.

Their eldest son, by the name of James,

Was full of stories of his hiking finds;

Though many believe these stories to be stretched,

He nonetheless told them the tales with pride.

Whether they are true or not yet remains unsaid,

But this I will tell you: The following is true;

It is a story of adventure, fraught with danger,

An adventure whose telling is due.

One of the days in the peaceful town,

Sun shining bright and a cool breeze,

James wondered what was beyond the wall,

And an opportunity he seized.

A beautiful day it was, perfect for exploring,

So James set off with food and water in hand.

A horizon trek, just 6 �" leagues,

And entirely across very good land.

A horse he had, young and spry, prancing all around,

But even though disobedient, the horse was very quick.

The miles flew by impressively fast,

Sweat making the horse quite slick.

Halfway through the trip to the wall,

James decided to stop for a drink;

After downing his whole canteen,

He settled down for some time to think.

The wall itself was in plainer view,

With little black figures traversing the top.

With the idea of solving this mystery,

He decided to finish the trip with no stop.

The massive gray wall loomed straight ahead,

Nothing but trees between him and it;

Not knowing if the figures on top were guards,

Using a dim lantern, a pathway he lit.

He tied up his horse and walked the dirt trail,

Surrounded in choruses of springtime insects;

Jumping over dead logs of oak,

The path that he took was very direct.

Eventually from the forest he emerged,

In front of a massive gateway;

Why it was open, he could only guess,

But he decided to enter anyway.

A massive mouth of black it yawned,

Its metal portcullis like shining teeth,

The windows above like flaming eyes,

Looking right down at those beneath.

Carefully watching, he slowly stepped through,

And seeing no guards, he looked around;

There were many a tent set up all over,

And a massive castle sprawled across the filthy ground.

That was when James was found.

Struggling greatly, James put up a fight,

But against the mighty guards there was no hope.

Dragging him down a well-trodden road,

They took him into a tent and bound him with rope.

Filled with dread and awful despair,

James was dumbfounded about what he should do;

When bound with rope, not much could be done,

And if escape was attempted, with a sword he’d be hewn.

Not long after, he was taken into the castle,

And down a large flight of stairs he went;

An iron was clamped around his hands,

And into the door of a dungeon he bent.

He briefly looked ‘round while the light was still there,

And what he saw sent shivers down his spine;

The place was dark, dank, dirty, and wet,

And when the door was closed, all light ceased to shine.

Yet even in a place as dark as the one he was in,

Light always finds a way to illuminate;

A crack in the bricks let in enough light

That the darkness seemed to deteriorate.

Once his eyes were fully adjusted,

He looked again at the cage next to him;

In it was a very old man,

A man who looked very grim.

The old man looked somehow familiar,

Yet James could not figure out why;

James asked the man’s name and listened carefully,

And he remembered when he heard the reply.

“Paul,” the old man told James,

And James told the old man his.

The old man had been a member of the village,

And his story went something like this:

He was a kind old man, a father to all,

Giving away much even when owning nothing;

Always ready to receive a weary man,

And treating even peasants like they were kings.

One day, however, he seemed to disappear,

And none could find the reason no matter how hard they tried.

Some had said he had left on a trip,

While others said he simply died.

Many mourned for the old man,

As to most of the villagers, he was a friend;

A funeral was held and honors were made,

And of him they believed that it was the end.

Why he was in prison, James could only guess,

But James was just grateful for a man with whom to talk;

He spoke many days with the old man,

And he marked the days down with a small piece of chalk.

During the midday, they were brought food,

But other than that the guards left them alone;

Thoughts of escape occupied James’s mind,

And these were fueled by thoughts of his home.

But after 10 days he began to lose hope,

As no weakness in the cell could possibly be found;

He pushed and he pulled as hard as he could,

But when nothing gave he fell to the ground.

“It’s hopeless, it’s hopeless, it really is!”

James cried to Paul with his hope fully drained;

Yet Paul kept James company, even when in danger,

And even in a dungeon, a friendship James gained.

But then one day, several weeks from his capture,

A prison guard came in at an unappointed time;

The guard walked up to the cell with a set of keys,

And he unlocked the cell, keys jingling like chimes.

“Come out,” he said softly, “and do it quickly!”

James stared as if in a trance, but obeyed.

The guard unlocked the chains and they fell to the floor;

“Wear these clothes and I shall wear yours; you are free today!”

“How can this be,” James said aloud;

“After weeks a captive, why am I free?”

“Long have I watched suffering,

Many hopes lost, including the hope of thee!

No more shall I watch these things,

But instead shall take them upon me.

An escape is impossible if you are not here,

So wear my uniform and I shall wear yours, and free you will be!”

“But, my good sir,” James responded sadly,

“If this happens, you will be captive all of your days!”

And the guard softly replied,

“I deem it just, so in peace you may be on your way.”

And so James donned the uniform, tears in his eyes,

While the guard wore the clothes of a peasant.

James took the keys and locked the man in the cell,

And went up to old Paul, whose expression was quite pleasant.

“Would you like to be free as well?”

James kindly asked the man.

“I have no replacement, so here I shall stay…

Go, you must leave as fast as you can!”

“But, my good sir,” James pleaded again,

“I wish for you to be freed as well!”

“Without a replacement there is no hope;

For the rest of my life, in here I will dwell.

And besides, I have been here so long;

Where would I go? This place has become my home.

Farewell, my friend, it was good to meet;

You are the reason I was not alone.”

James bid him goodbye, weeping inside,

And with the key ring went out the door.

One last look was all that he got,

And he felt as if his heart had just torn.

He made his way through the large halls,

Exploring until he found the outside…

The door he went through looked very familiar,

And James then realized that through it he had arrived.

He found his horse had broken it’s tether,

So he walked back to town to the home he was from.

A happy reunion he had with his family,

With much laughing and singing to the beat of their drum.

He went ‘round the town, telling his story,

And many believed the tale to be stretched,

But those who believed him mourned for old Paul,

And for his survival, they believed he was blessed.

Then three days later, a strange thing occurred…

From where the wall was, some people were seen.

James saw them from a distance,

For his vision was quite keen.

The people made their way to the small town,

A bedraggled group, bloodied and sore.

But the man in front, James recognized;

It was the guard, the guard from before!

And old man Paul, right next to the guard,

With many others following in line!

The town helped them all, building them homes,

And listened to their stories, time after time.

James spoke to the guard one of those days.

“How were they freed?” he asked the good man.

“Not even a cell can contain great faith…

With hope as your guide, nothing can.”

The guard then left once all were healed;

An enigma to all, never again seen.

But there remains a promise, made by the man,

A promise made to make the land clean;

A promise to raze the wall to the ground,

To destroy once for all the bruise on the land;

To remove all of its traces from the town,

And to make the whole area once again grand.

Many can learn from the story of James,

And many have used his story as a metaphor.

Many disclaim the story to be true,

But I can tell you, it’s more than just lore.

I have told you this story not as a legend,

For if this was a legend, it’s telling would be for naught…

No, not a legend, this story is true,

And in it lies a lesson that can be taught.

Author's Note

I know it sucks, but oh, well