The Storyteller

“A knight in armour white,” says he,

Beginning his spinning of a tale,

but from the back there comes a cry, loud and dark and black as night.

“Lies, lies,” proclaimed I,

“A fairytale indeed sir, not a tale we wish for,

but the little white lies of a child’s tale,

spoken from a child’s tongue to soothe the little ones.

It is a lie, sir, a fable told to put to sleep.”

“Alas,” says he, with naught but a smile on his face and in his eyes.

“Alas, my dear, but you are wrong and oh so cynical indeed.”

I stand and challenge the storyteller,

whose dark eyes meet mine confident, with naught a hint of fear,

“Look around and tell me, then,

if knights there be in this small inn, in this small township?

None will show and none you’ll find except in your old nursery rhymes,

and again I tell you, they are nothing, nothing but a lie.”

Nothing says he for a minute long,

as he stands face to face with one he has known.

“A heart is difficult to heal once bruised,” he says finally, quietly and true.

“A scar on the outside is a mere reflection of pain inside,”

he tugs my sleeve and I step out of his grasp.

Defiantly I glare into his eyes,

“Naught but a liar, you speak of what you should not know.

Pretty words from a captor charm none, and thou art nothing

but a fiend who hides in tales of valour and honour.

Again I ask you: where is a knight? You say he comes in shining

white but I now you lie, for I have been through a night that is darker than you

shall ever see, and was there a knight shining bright to lead my way out of the darkness?

Not even a candle was there in the depths,” says i.

“Say what you wish, but I know you lie.”

Out of his hazel eyes shone a sorrow deeper than any

I have seen outside my mirror,

as he said quietly, “It is a lie only

to those who will not believe.” And out he stepped into the rain,

leaving me to wonder at the pain that shone from those eyes and matched my own.

I stood in a numb silence for a minute long and then flew out

the way he had gone.

He turned and stopped as my footsteps he heard

When, out of breath, I caught him on the road.

The space between us was a wall, much to high and much too tall

to climb, as we stood in silence broken

only by the rain falling around us.

Quietly I bade him tell his tale,

“But believe in a knight in armour white, I won’t,” said I.

His head tilted, he only stared, his hazel eyes still meeting mine.

“A knight is an honest man, true? And kind and gentle too?”

He nodded, both curious and amused. “True.”

“Then why need he be a knight?”

In the silence came no answer except from mine own heart.

“Why a knight clad all in white?

If you tell me tales of a knight, I never will believe you.

Tell me tales of a farm boy. A smart and kind and gentle farm boy

who grew up to be a storyteller. Then I will believe you.”

He reached out a hand to touch my cheek.

The space between us was a wall, much too high and much too tall

to climb, and then as the rain fell all around us,

then there was no space at all.

Author's Note

I have absolutely no idea where this came from...it's not very good, but oh well. Haha. :)

Reviews

[Jae]

i love it, twin