~* The Key To The Answers *~

If you squinted your eyes in just the right way,
Off in the distance was one lonely winding path.
And on it, a tiny speck of the head of a man,
Slowly winding his way up this green path.
And second by second, the image grew larger.

And rounding the corner of lessons,
There sat a small, old man whose candle lit a rock wall.
It was the mystical wall of wisdom, millions of years old.
Grey as squirrels, and old dust, but strong as ever after.

The dress of this man was bright, elfish in color.
Springing from his clothes, were well-worn shoes,
And his long white beard and flowing hair.
Out of the wilderness he had come.

A man, so crooked and old as the rocks he looked.
On his head, a hat so bent with,
Wisdom, winds and storms,
It seemed to sigh and wait for rest.

But ever it bobbed as the old man looked,
Taking in the air and earth to mind’s eye;
A pale green eye, that now covered the land,
From the rocks to the wind and sea.

Beside him a wise old owl stood where mushrooms sang.
But in the eye of this old man, Few dared move.
His cloak shimmered as prisms of a rainbow.
On his shoulders, scarves danced in the breeze.

At this rock wall , once the gate of kings,
He would meet his friend, loyal in these dark times.
And the friend would come.
He had promised.

There, a vow taken long ago upon this holy place.
Where the man now stood.
This wall of wisdom and  secret power,
The sacred rock of age-old meaning.
And his friend held the key to the lock.

A length, a shadow formed in the far lands,
Just over the hill, beyond the rock.
It moved swiftly and with purpose.
A horse, a rider bent forward to urge on the beast,
It's pride was in its speed.

Seeing the old man standing by the wall,
The shadow rose high, and sounded a mighty blast
On his trusty silver and gold horn.
As he took the west road leading to the path.

Elves and animals scattered under
The beating hooves of the galloping beast.
Back, back to their holes under the rocks,
Where they would feast upon the sobbing mushroom,
And play music into the night.

Leaping off his horse, he smiled.
His smile was grim and grey, like the rock,
His eyes like the sky, a rare gift,
In these sorry, troubled times.

He stepped to the wall, and took the old man's hand.
And said, “Wisest of the old men,
It has been a long time, old friend,
Since we last met.”

”Yes indeed”, rumbled the wise old man.
And crave your young palms.”
”Alas”, sighed, the handsome man,
”They are not such anymore,
For as you will soon know I have learned lessons”.

For great labors he had performed since then.
He had slain the great dragon of Greed,
And he had fought the trees of despair,
And he had delved the depths of the greatest minds,
Searching for the key to life, this key he now held.

He looked at his sorry friend and he knew the question.
He simply said, “I have the key”.
Surprise, joy, anger battled on his friend’s face.
Who forced out troops of stammered words.

How? when? And where? he cried.
Why did you think I called you here?
Joy illuminated from the old man,
With a dark smile on his withered lips.

The stranger simply said, “I had it all the time!”

”Why did you not tell me?”
”Why did you not give it to me?” he screamed,
His words high and shivering,
In shards of pain that carried in the wind.

The young man simply bowed his head, saying,
“The time was not right, and you were not ready.
Now, you are ready and I shall wait no longer”
If it is key you desire, your wish I shall grant.

The old man stood up straight,
And now in anger he asked,
”Will I have the key now then?”
”Yes. I think so whistled the young man.”

”Show it to me”! Cried the old man,
His voice cracking,
The years of toil and torment
Now rising up to mock and laugh at him.

The young man dangled a key before him.
It was small and dull. Only a copper key.
And on it were runes
That told that it was a key.

And a mighty key it was
The old man grasped at it,
His life finally would be never-ending,
His questions answered, and his quest ended.

The young man grabbed it away
From the outstretched hand and held it aloft.
It dangled from his craven hands.
”Catch”, he said, simply,
And mockery was in his voice.

He threw the key into the dust
At the foot of the wall.
The old man leapt into the dust after the key.
Digging with aged old hands scrambling to find it.
Shaking as he put it into the keyhole.

The young man only laughed
At this wise man, so lost of dignity.
And rode like the wind before the old man saw
He had started to decay and turn to dust.

As all the locks had been changed!


(moral: No one has the answers until they know the questions)
art: James Christensen "The Old Professor"
music: Balthasar's Theme