[_Scribbleskillz_]

This was a peom i completely forgot that i had written.  I beg your patience with it, but i felt i should post none-the-less.  I wrote it about five years ago, give or take.  hope you enjoy and it helps to take it slow.

Errand Boy
Written by Scribbleskillz

Twilight’s ever peaceful,
It’s always expected.
It’s greeted warmly,
As nature’s perfected the world that we see,
     And the world that we know.
Until the un-thought of is heard down the road.

His approach is meager,
His tempo is calm.
He has nothing to fear,
And so he walks on down the road,
     As he has done so before.
These times as of now seem forever more.

He walks in step,
With a song in his heart.
The Errand Boy moves,
He’s his light in the dark.
He carries with him,
A tattered old letter.
What of it is said,
He would not know better.
It’s addressed for another,
And so he had better,
Continue his journey,
To deliver the letter.

He has traveled far,
Farther than most.
For it is his job,
To be the host of this letter he carries,
     He knows not of its means.
He carries the letter for one as it seems.

The road has grown rough,
And the sky has turned black.
He walks still forward,
He doesn’t turn back.
He carries the letter,
He placed in his sack.
He’s an unknowing pawn.
Or a card in a stack.

The town is so close now,
The aromas are growing.
Laughter is heard,
As is crying and moaning.
People are near, and people would mean;
The town is so close now,
So close it would seem.

The Errand Boy walks,
He trots on through the cold.
And as he approaches,
Lights pour onto the road.

He passes the houses where windows look on.
He passes the stage where goods are auctioned.
He passes the trees that line the street.
He passes the animals,
     Some dirty, some neat.
Nearer, and nearer he comes to the center,
The middle of town, the place he must enter.
His target is there, that’s what he’s been told.
He must reach the center,  He walks on down the road.

With a big burst of cheer, he approaches the crowd.
People have gathered in the center of town.
A party of sorts, seems to have be thrown.
Somewhere in the mass, the letter must go.

The sea of faces drown the poor Boy.
He cannot see above them, lost without joy.
Some faces look down, but most ignore,
The little carrier who’s never been there before.
But one chose to acknowledge and come to his aide.
Just one of the many.
Only one of them came.

He looked down upon this poor Errand Boy.
He looked down and his face then filled with joy.
‘May I help you?’ he asked, his eyes were so deep.
The Errand Boy looked up.  He could not find speech.
‘Could this be the man?’ the Errand Boy thought.
There was no addressee, he hadn’t forgot.
‘The owner would address himself’
The others had said.  
‘Give it to him.’  Said the voice in his head.
He raised, his hand, the hand at his side.
Clenched in it was the letter described.

The tattered old letter,
What in it is read,
The Boy knew nothing,
It’s better they said.

The Man knew nothing,
Not to whom it went,
Nor what was inside,
But curiosity bent his mind into taking the letter below,
     It was now in his hands,
What of it he did know.

Doubt crossed his eyes, this was not the right man.
He knew now that he had better correct his plan.
He grabbed for the letter, while the man’s hands,
But he opened the paper from some other land.

His expression changed,
It wasn’t the same.
And as he read on,
His face took on pain.
The Boy knew he had to get the letter right now,
The man threw him down, he crashed hard onto the ground.
He read on, and on, until there was no more to read.
He turned to the crowd who had witnessed his deeds.
He passed the letter to the closest to him,
The same transformation happened again.
As the letter went round, the night itself changed.
What was a joyous event, became one full of rage.
The people wanted answers, and someone to blame.
The Errand Boy knew, it wasn’t his day.

The fingers pointed at him one-by-one.
The man grabbed him before he had a chance to run.
He doomed the poor boy.
The very same man who was once full of joy.
Shouts and cheers erupted through the crowd,
As the letter had spread like a plague all through the town.
The Boy didn’t know what the letter had said,
But for it he feared he would pay with his head.
Into the center the brought the poor child.
“A child not of man!” cried the town, now defiled.
The others did look, and the cried, and they cheered,
And cheered as the verdict was said over there.
Over there was said, and the panic did race.
It raced through the mind of the one that it pained.
The pain of lose.
The lose of youth.
Youth now gone.
As is the truth.
No truth.
No sense.
No sense,
No knowledge.
No knowledge,
No reason.
No reason for homage.
No reason,
No worth.
No worth,
No hope.
No hope,
No love, for it’s love we all hope.
The pain, and lose, and fear, all grow.
The Boy in the middle who just doesn’t know.
He suffers the fate of those before him.
When once he was loved by those who adore him.
As did Rosencrantz and young Guildenstern,
Carry with them their fate to the end.
They gave the king the very same letter,
Of which the players will sing forever.
The Boy whose so young, still has a chance.
If only one would give him the chance.
It only takes one,
One to make two,
Two other people who’d know what to do.
From those two, others would come.
Until there were more.
More than enough.
And as the Boy looked on in the crowd,
He hoped for that one to step out aloud.

(Cont'd)

[_Scribbleskillz_]

He hoped and he cried,
He did not mean to die.
But he feared his fate was sealed as of this.
He turned to look onward,
And saw the first man was,
Standing and looking down upon him.

The look in his eyes was too deep and too dark.
The one which in which nothing is known to be.
Where chaos can reign before existence is held,
Where anything is a possibility.

The man reached down and grabbed the Boy.
He held him tightly in his hands.
He placed a letter back in the child’s pocket.
Set down the Boy,
And away the Boy ran.

Like a dart through the crowd, the child did go,
No longer a boy, as this is now known.
He ran as he could, as fast as he willed.
His legs pushed hard against the earth that was tilled.
He ran, as fast as the Swallow does fly,
As it circles in freedom in the great, spacious sky.
And from the town the Errand Boy fled.
Away from the fate he was certain was death.

On down the road,
through the night,
under the stars which shine on so bright.
At long last he came to the start of our tale,
Where his story began.
Where he was so frail.

Where twilight once was,
Yet the night now grows warmer.
As the un-thought of,
Becomes just a glimmer in the past of the present,
     Which forever grows longer.
As does a serpent which has an insatiable hunger.

But as for the Boy,
The young Errand Boy,
Whose story goes on,
Far past this point of which we’ll conclude,
     For reasons left untold,
For beyond this point, is another road.

But we will, however,
Leave you with this,
About the young Errand Boy,
Whom isn’t amiss when considering what’s true,
     And that which is false.
Like all tales with morals which suffer a pulse.

What that is, however, is for you to determine.
What isn’t the truth?  Where lies the vermin?
But look deep, look true, look hard, and look wisely.
Don’t deny denial and don’t be too feisty.
Especially when considering the tiniest of factors,
Can make you the victim, or make you the captor


Thanks for taking the time to read this.  I once again must state that this was years ago, but i felt i should post it anyways.  

Scribs

[jaded_blue]

I really don't think you have to reiterate how very long ago this was Scribby, it is still magnificent and completely infused with your ability to form words to make the reader feel the excitement and curiousity and fear and finally exhiliration at the Errand Boys release. I was very afraid for him, lol. Amazing tale and putting it into poetry just makes it that much more amazing. Great stuff!

Blue

[piaz]

oooo oooo pi likes it. ty  more please. :-* :-* :-* :-* :-* :-*





pi