Epic Love

Upon a long and dusty road,
A story would unbear its load,
It concerned a lonely, angry bloke,
And that of a love unprovoked.

It was upon this lonely path,
That a heavy rain showed its wrath,
And as this rain came pouring down,
He chanced upon a tiny town,
And found he some solace from the rain,
That had muddied the road and been his bane,
At the local place to stay,
An inn called “the Traveler’s Way.”

The innkeeper was indeed glad,
To find a customer in this wandering lad,
And showed him to his dreary room,
Where, while standing amidst the gloom,
He unpacked the few things that he possessed;
A road-worn walking stick he affectionately caressed,
Some tattered and well-worn clothes,
Which he laid out in loving rows,
A few matches protectively encased,
A pot and pan, designs long ago effaced,
A light worn blanket for sleeping beneath the stars,
And a beautifully carved knife purchased at one of many attended Bazaars.

These were his things, his possessions sole,
And with them he intended to accomplish his goal,
To see the whole world in all of its splendor,
He would be alone, his own defender,
Without a worry or a single care,
And without a heavy burden to bear;
He relished in this his own self-seclusion,
And thus one day he reached the conclusion,
That he was destined to be a lonely old drifter,
But he did not mind for a single was swifter,
And thus he could travel far, far more,
Seeing all that the world for him had in store.

Unbenounced to the weary young gent,
A girl had been watching him with a fiery intent,
Since he had come plodding down the street,
From her room on the corner where the two roads meet;
She was the daughter of the towns’ only banker,
After whom all the men did hanker,
For not only did they desire her fathers affluent affection,
But they longed for her and her creamy complexion,
Her dark brown shoulder length hair,
And her striking blue eyes in which to stare,
Her lovely young body to adore and caress,
And her beautiful name to be theirs to address.
And yet despite such hordes from which to choose,
She had yet to find one with which to exchange “I Do’s.”

But whilst gazing at this new found man,
She found her heart hatching a plan,
Without her mind or one logical thought,
To pursue this lad until he was caught,
And hers to cherish, to love and to hold;
And though her mind rebuked a thought so bold,
Her young heart had just been taken,
And its decision could not be shaken,
She would have the young man across the way,
She would love him and no one else until the day,
He agreed to say yes and to be her’s forever,
She knew she must succeed in this her endeavor,
If she wanted to keep her heart from breaking,
And her body and soul from constantly aching,
She would pierce this man’s uncaring shell,
Or she would have to bid this life farewell.

The young man however did not have plans to stay,
At that inn called the “Traveler’s Way,”
Past the time when the rains stopped pounding,
And the thunders quit their resounding,
For when the road was clear and dry,
He planned to pick up his pack and wave goodbye,
However, little did this young man know,
The changes that his plans would undergo,
Because as he sat watching the rain,
The girl was doing her best to explain,
Her complex and obsessive affection,
And how more than anything she feared his rejection,
So she sat and jotted down a long, long note,
But she crumpled it up and instead she wrote,
Three short words that described how she felt,
Which she hoped would cause his cold heart to melt.
She folded the note and sealed it with a kiss,
And prayed to God it would bring her heart bliss.

A knock on the door startled the pensive young man,
“I’m sorry to bother you” the innkeeper began,
“But I received a letter to be delivered to you,”
“From a young lady,” he said glasses askew;
The innkeeper gave the weary man a thorough stare,
As if to see what the town beauty saw in him there,
With a shake of his head he gave him the note,
And turned to leave whipping his coat,
He left the young man confused as could be,
Wanting with the innkeeper to disagree,
For who could know him in this tiny town,
Where none of his family or friends were found?
Reluctantly he pried open the letter,
But what he saw made him feel no better,
For emblazoned upon it were the words “I love you,”
Words and feelings to which he had long ago said adieu,
He had forsworn such ties long ago,
Because of the troubles upon him they would bestow,
He could not love, not now, not ever,
He stuffed the letter into his sweater,
And gathered his things and made to go,
For although he did not want to cause her woe,
He knew he must leave and not string her along,
For he did not want her pain prolonged,

He slipped out the door and paid his dues,
For the room which had been his to use,
He walked in the rain toward the edge of town,
By the house where the girl was to be found,
She saw him leaving and the fear in his face,
And desired nothing more than to erase,
The actions of her confused heart,
Which had caused her beloved to depart.

The young man made his way down the path,
Once again soaked by the sky’s angry wrath,
Angered and confused by the letter clutched to his chest,
He was now with it, becoming obsessed,
When the rains finally abated,
And a campsite had been created,
As he sat thinking angrily about his life,
And about the woman who wished to be his wife,
He took the note and with all his might,
Threw it into the fire to rid his life of that blight.

Miles away in the young lady’s house,
A candle was burning, as of yet, undoused,
The occupants of the house were both sleeping,
The girl had finally fallen after much weeping,
The candle burning was caught by a gust,
And started to burn with fiery lust,
The entire house was lost to that fire,
And the woman finally achieved her desire,
She refused to live when her love was spurned,
And so she died as her house was burned,
And her wish was thus fulfilled,
For when her love was not returned she was killed.

The next morning when the house was found,
It had been burnt down to the ground.

The next morning bright and early,
The young man arose, still surly,
And took the ashes from the fire,
Fueled by some irrational desire,
And put them in a small glass vial,
About the note, still in denial,
He took them with him when he departed,
For once it was burned he was from confusion parted,
And in his mind the voices would say,
“It wasn’t ever meant for you anyway,
“It was only a joke, it couldn’t be real,
“For no one about you that way could feel”
He was deluding himself some part of him knew,
But his brain could not admit that it was true;
He carried those ashes,
Around with him through all of his clashes,
And with him all along the way,
He would take a pinch and toss it astray,
It helped him to cleanse his soul,
For bearing that load was taking its toll.

One day perhaps after a year or two passed,
He took all those ashes and with a deft cast,
(For it seems the man had lost his mind,
From being with those ashes so long entwined)
Tossed them over a cliff into a raging storm,
Those pieces of love were faraway bourn,
Some would fall into the sea,
Some would fly on inexorably,
One was blown upon a mountain high,
One who’s point thrust into the clear blue sky,
When it landed on its pure white snow,
It gave a gentle heave and down below,
The trees braced themselves for the coming attack,
And the mountain gave a mighty crack,
And rolling down the hill there came,
An avalanche, a mass forever untamed.
This one piece of ash was not alone,
In partaking in events for which it ought to atone,
One of the pieces flew upon the wind’s command,
Until it reached some distant farming land,
Deep in the heart of the old Midwest,
Where, with nary a word of protest,
That little piece rode way up high,
As the wind formed a tornado in the sky,
It sat upon a throne of unconcern,
As the world below it was upturned.

Such we now can begin to see,
All this ash brought was misery,
To a world of hope and love and joy,
Like Pandora’s little toy.

Fire, Flood, Twister, Cyclone,
Spreading their pain wherever blown,
They upended the world this rain of ash,
And wherever it met with love it would clash,
For the pieces remembered when they were whole,
The woman who entrusted to them her soul,
They could still feel the pain when they were rejected,
And thus they hated when they found true love protected,
For it was jealousy, simple and plain,
Why could others love when they were held in disdain?

All the pieces were of this same mind,
All except one who was a bit more refined,
He alone understood all the man’s fears,
And he alone out of all of his peers,
Knew that love for them was not lost,
So he returned with the winter’s first frost,
To the place where love for them could be found,
The town where a woman lay beneath the ground.

He floated through that town of ghosts,
A collection of buildings most morose,
No longer the happy town of two years before,
The citizens had fled--here no more,
Followed by ill luck since that long ago blaze,
They had to all go their own separate ways,
For ever since that wandering man fled the town,
A customer for the “The Traveler’s Way” could not be found,
The farmers’ crops all would miserably fail,
So the bakers shop could not prevail,
The people had no food to eat,
And therefore had to admit their defeat,
And leave a ghost town in their wake.

It was this town through moonlight opaque,
That this piece of ash found on that winters night,
And his heart filled with sorrowful delight,
When he found the spot where his creator lay,
He fell on her grave but feared wind would tear him away,
So he buried himself beneath the ground,
And there he felt a feeling profound,
It was love, simple and pure,
For her body had failed but love had endured,
It warmed the ground underneath the snow,
And gave warmth to the ash buried below,
Content at last, he lay himself down for a long rest.

When the snow finally gave up the land it possessed,
And spring had come to the land,
The warmth from the grave began to expand,
It settled upon the entire town,
Speeding up growth wherever it was found,
Trees burst up in a growth of green,
Grass grew up in spurts never before seen,
The town was soon gone,
Lost beneath a forest’s dawn,
The ash had been the helpful push,
Helping bring up every tree and bush,
It was soon an Eden a place of peace,
Where every tree could not cease,
Its steady and glorious unfurling of stem and flower,
And each and every plant were by the woman empowered,
They drew from her love, a source eternal,
And she was for the garden, a guardian paternal,
And above her grave was the biggest tree,
As wide and as tall as it is possible to be,
It stood green the whole year round,
Saved by the warmth from the love in the ground,
It saw over all, this garden’s queen,
It watched over all the land that could be seen.

Almost fifty years had now gone by.
And a man, not quite as spry,
As he had been in his youthful days,
When he sought to behold the whole world in his gaze,
Walked along a long and dusty road,
Along which he simply flowed,
It seemed to him as though he had been here before,
Perhaps in a dream he didn’t remember any more,
Upon the steamy horizon, so far distant,
He saw a green mirage extremely persistent,
It did not disperse as he drew close,
But upon his sight did further impose,
He began to walk towards a garden of green,
And as he got closer towards the living scene,
He walked upon a path of moss,
And a carpet of grass he began to cross,
Drawn by some unseen force,
Upon a direct beeline course,
To the tallest tree, that towered o’er all,
It seemed in his mind, to call and call,
He walked faster now, with a purposeful intent,
But his body was tired, his life now spent,
The tree seemed to be even farther away,
But on he walked, never turning astray.

It was in the last hundred yards that the old man fell,
And the tree danced before his eyes like some witch’s spell,
He couldn’t get up; his strength was gone,
And the tree danced on like some devil’s spawn,
He pulled the last dregs of strength from a near empty well,
It filled up his now empty shell,
He crawled upon his hands and knees,
So that this tree goddess’s commands he could appease,
He arrived at its base, his body’s journey completed,
The reserves of strength finally, and forever, depleted,
He lay down his head on patch of moss on the tree,
His heart rejoicing in jubilee,
He let go of his final breath
And quietly slipped into his final death.






He awoke.

His body was on the ground like a forgotten cloak,
A woman sat on a bough of the tree,
Like the man, of her body free,
She was ready now, for their blissful life to start,
And the man finally realized they should never be apart.

It began on a long and dusty road,
And upon you this story has now been bestowed,
So thus this story ends my friend,
Never to be told again.