Lesson for a Storyteller - Part 1

This was a failed play idea that I've changed into a poem.

Fire dances beneath a spinning wagon wheel
Turning the wooden carcass to cinders.
A blowing horn sounds across a deserted field
Full of death and fire and arrows.
The war party marches. Their heavy steps make
Thunder in the ground.

A storyteller trails, keeping his distance.
His anger boils with every step, bubbling up
To the surface of his mind.
He is forbidden from the glory of battle
For someone must tell the heroes' tale.
His own death will be meaningless.

The war party approaches the castle walls,
Battering violently against reinforced wood.
The assault rings loudly in the hearts
Of those inside. Their royal allegiances
Bear them little fruit. The gates break,
And they receive no quarter.

A storyteller watches through a thin smile.
His soul yearns for combat. It is denied.
I fall behind the man and laugh
As his firm posture gives way to shock.
"Where...?" he begins, but I wave for silence.
Power can be inspiring.

"What's the matter my friend?
Can't you raise your sword against innocents?
Can't you pillage and kill for glory?
Or have your wings been clipped?"
I watch as the shock fades, and I see
A man unconcerned with the story.

"I know what you're thinking.
You think a tale has no glory for the teller.
But I think you need some perspective.
The type of wisdom I have in mind
Only comes with experience. So how 'bout it?
We'll meet again in 200 years."

I watch a storyteller laugh without sound
And so I give him back his voice.
"You are no God! You are a fraud!
A simple charlatan who caught me off guard.
A marketplace magician, nothing more."
It's my turn to laugh.

"Time can be a gift or a curse.
It depends entirely on you my friend.
Two centuries of stories to collect.
I'd suggest you get to watching."
And with that, I fade away from him and see
The fear and doubt engulf him.

Time is nothing if I'm telling the story.
For some, it crawls against the wind,
till they find themselves deaf and dustblind
in the end. I won't let that happen though.
Not to my storyteller-the lesson's not over.
Far from over.