The Dreamweaver's Pawn

The Dreamweaver's Pawn

Status: In Progress

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Summary

A poetic retelling of my short story 'The Long Night', written from the perspective of the old man's tormentor.
When complete this poem will likely be approximately twenty stanzas in length.
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Summary

A poetic retelling of my short story 'The Long Night', written from the perspective of the old man's tormentor.
When complete this poem will likely be approximately twenty stanzas in length.

Content

Submitted: April 30, 2017

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Content

Submitted: April 30, 2017

A A A

A A A


On luring him into the depths of night,

he shivers in the shadow of my might.

I elicit exquisite pleas for light's security

from this frail man fraught in enmity

with the boundless, labyrinthine void.

Ensnared by a fate he shall not avoid.

 

I savour ripe anguish as he whimpers in vain, 

for none shall find him, though he may strain.

Eternally enslaved in starless starvation,

he knows of neither initiation nor destination.

Trepid, he treads tactfully without eyes;

for a vision of this world he desperately cries.

 

In graceful torment I serve his bidding,

for in his pocket a matchbox is sitting.

A dormant lantern in his path I leave;

a solitary match he is eager to retrieve.

Courage rises with the birth of a flame; 

with renewed vision he seeks hope to gain.

 

Torchlit - a refugee. How he longs to be saved.

Pitiful! By fire not but destruction is made.

In the luminosity many a lantern has given,

rest assured, salvation has never risen.

Does he think in light's emergence hope is born?

Destitute is he; his fruitless quest forlorn!

 

Predictably, he soon descends into dismay:

Might my newfound vision lead me astray?

Desperately desirous of some facet of home,

his delusions weave incorporeal paths unknown.

How he sweats with such precarious fret!

His tender mind has not tasted terror yet.

 

The old man would do well to quell his dread;

there are subsequent steps he has still to tread.

Yet what the lantern reveals is not at all inviting;

concrete surfaces both soulless and frightening.

Regrettably, he uncovers nothing of the familiar

in his perilous quest to traverse the linear.

 

However, all is not as barren as this,

for he spies a structure not at all amiss.

Curious, he steps across to investigate

a darkened staircase unseen until late.

Lingering, too vulnerable to ascend,

he yearns, dejected: here it does not end.

 

 


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