 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 20:00:47 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 33630
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Smith & Baker
[time] => 2004-02-03 03:04:46
[hometext] => A poem about love, friendship, justice, sins, and making things right on a cosmic level. I really like how this came out.
[bodytext] => Two men did meet once in a wood and spake of merchantry, enlightenment and local wealth under a gallant tree. So spake they thus for days on end and shared such secrets so, should either one find his life done, his business still could go. So spake they thus for months on end, the Baker and the Smith, that each could take the other’s trade and practice it forthwith. They told of sales they would make and nobles to whom they’d sell and slowly Baker reasoned out that Smith’s shop did more well. He plotted thus for three long nights, and writ an evil deed which blacked his heart and filled it and his coffers full of greed. And that next day, so met they, as was normal, ‘neath the tree, and, knife in hand, the baker cut the smithy at the knee. The man cried out and let his blood to feed the moss below, His life was lost, his family, loved, ‘twas nothing else to know. “Whist thee thy tongue, good sir, and bind thy hands under the bough. Thy time has come, thus thou art hung. Thy sins, repent thee now.” The baker’s heart was filled with flame. In boiling blood, he baked, and as his friend swung from the bough, the greed-filled heart did break. He wished forgiveness from his friend, but he no mercy gave, and let the blacksmith swing ‘til still and built for him a grave, for fear so clawed at this man’s heart that he’d be like betrayed, and have his head placed on the block for his attempt to slay. So after this dark deed was done, the baker went back home, and wept into a weeping sleep, for he was all alone. The morning aft, he rose at dawn and went to tend the shop that he’d inherited that night right from the man he’d fobbed. He entered Smith’s now-humbled shop, and saw a wondrous sight, a blade his fallen friend had forged and finished that last night. It sat inside a shallow pool that smelled of sweet liqueur, and glimmered as wills-o’-the-wisp with victims under lure. He noticed etchings on the blade that seemed to spell his name, drew out the blade, looked closer still, and yet, he found the same. His friend had made for him a gift to seal their friendship true and that same night, without a fight, his friend their friendship slew. The bloodguilt filled his heart with woe as he beheld the hilt, adorned with gold, sliver, and jade, Baker’s red tears were spilt. To test this sword most elegant, the finest in the land, sir Baker glided his new blade most gently through his hand. Though utmost care and tenderness were taken to protect, the hand bled rivers, cuts ran deep and this, dear Baker recked. His sore wound shortly felt no pain nor any sensations, and streaks of black flowed up his arm just as a river runs. His flesh grew pallid on his arm, as up the black lines crawled, like leper-skin, like living death, like his smith-friend had called. He panicked as his chest went numb, his black heart beat no more, and gasping for his final breath, he collapsed on the floor. His eyes then blinked a widened blink, his face showed naught but fear, then a new thought brought peacefulness and Baker’s conscience cleared. He realized now that his attack had simply landed first, and Smith’s new poisoned blade would have dealt him a death much worse. With one thought, he forgave himself, and asked his God the same. His world went white with glimmer-light from the blade that bore his name and into rest eternal, our dear baker-friend did slip, knowing the blade that bore his name was resting at his hip, and life at last had come to pass its lessons to his soul, as his dark ways and greedy days were paid to him in full. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 156 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Butterat_Zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com