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Open Poetry #9
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Autobiography
| Open Poetry #9 |
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Autobiography |
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H. Arlequin Member
since 1999-08-23
Posts 210 |
Autobiography He sat at a rough-hewn table in the first warmth of breaking day, before him the few instruments of his craft which could enable many to see through his eyes, say with his thoughts rousing testaments of right and wrong, fact or fable, cowards nee heroes of a fray where men fled wisdom's investments. Plume and ink, as oft as the sword, had changed outcomes, scribal hands embellishing facts here and there, omitting the useless, untoward events, unhelpful where commands of liege lords prejudged the affair, ordered, for political concord, pseudo-history. Far away lands, allies, need not everything share. But he was not to his master like a mindless quill in the hand, flowing new pathways on parchment, separate from fame or disaster. He would have the future understand his personal acknowledgment of pure Justice tracing, faster than time's measure of falling sand, details of each man's own judgment, where kingly commands are hearsay, men's choices alone, revealing purity of heart or its lack. Personal honor...the nosegay of fools if kings plan concealing their evil, or the surprise attack on a defenseless city...may demand that which denies healing; treason requires death on the rack. What more dared a man ask? To die well once, or compromise to live long, intending to do better? Impossible, fruitless to try to bargain that destiny give more, not keeping the law's letter if others in their anguish cry. Time flows through it, but virtue's sieve garners good deeds by its fetter. Life is not fuel to be burned down to empty by the tankful, its joy derived from consumption. It's a name waiting to be earned, an unique act that the thankful commit without the presumption of wages, a moment discerned more valuable than a bank full of wealth made by grit and gumption. One 'no' to a king, to this place and the morning to be his last, had conveyed him without regret. Bemused at the manner that Grace had chosen to usher him past things about which others must fret, determined the smile on his face be his resurrection forecast, on the rack, he had his eyes set. |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
This is an amazing piece of writing, H.A.! Very well done! My favorite lines, If I had to choose a favorite from all the splendid ones here: 'What more dared a man to ask? To die well once, or compromise to live long, intending to do better?' Denise |
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