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    dots Submission Name: Once Upon a Far Away, pts 1-5 (revised)dots

    Author: bentnotbroken
    ASL Info:    25+/m/middle of nowhere
    Elite Ratio:    4.6 - 351/260/38
    Words: 2308
    Class/Type: Poetry/Legend
    Total Views: 1662
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 15331

       Okay, before you start reading. These were originally posted separately. I've revised them all and combined them here. That being said, this is an extremely long piece: approximately 2200 words. If you take the time to read it, please comment; anything would be helpful. Thank you.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsOnce Upon a Far Away, pts 1-5 (revised)dots

    Once upon a far away,
    in a long ago,
    an ordinary girl was born
    with skin as white as snow.

    She was no charming princess,
    no great beauty queen;
    so captivating were her eyes though,
    they likened to a dream.

    Eyes the color of envy,
    the most verdant of the gems.
    Of all the beaus that wanted her,
    she only cared for him.

    He didn't have a courtly grace
    or a poets words,
    but everything he did in life
    was for the love of her.

    He tried to slay her dragons
    and conquer all her fears;
    he only wanted strength enough
    to comfort all her tears.

    His leaden tongue he tried to train
    to utter pretty thoughts,
    but every verse that he devised
    often came to naught.

    Despite his truly awful grasp
    of the bardic craft,
    his muse-less words in some small way
    always made her laugh.

    The lovely sound of her great joy,
    the wine of her non-knight.
    He always found his happiness
    in her own delight.

    She often thought of her love
    and wanted so much more
    than his attempted pretty words
    and notes upon her door.

    In her heart she yearned for some
    great token of his care;
    she wanted a small child to hold
    and the vow that he'd be there.

    One starlit night he went to her
    and knelt upon one knee.
    He looked into her emerald eyes,
    said "Spend your life with me."

    Cycles of the moon went by,
    wedding plans ensued.
    Every day the world was bright,
    responding to her mood.

    That happy day it finally came,
    the mingling of their souls;
    unmindful of the road ahead
    with all its many tolls.

    They dreamed of wand'ring down life's path
    for all their many years
    That plan, however, did not include
    their myriad of tears.

    The moment of their greatest joy--
    a darling girl was born.
    An angel from the heavens came
    on that bless-ed morn.

    Providing is a father's task,
    something he must do;
    giving everything he had
    for his special two.

    Nothing in this life is ease
    he bore his burdens well.
    For the two loves in his life
    he'd gladly go through Hell.

    Through the world this man he walked
    into the land of strife.
    There was naught he would not do
    for his daughter and his wife.

    As he left one fateful morn,
    the sky was cold and gray.
    His wife she begged him not to go--
    yet knew he could not stay.

    His lady often had a dream-
    a precognicient kind-
    and so that day he wondered what
    so occupied her mind.

    The work day closed and home he went,
    all the way he raced;
    not knowing 'bout the things he'd find
    or sorrow that he'd face.

    Upon his stoop he stopped anon,
    something was amiss.
    Where were his wife and girl child
    with their usual kiss?

    He searched thier home from high to low
    half crazed because of fright.
    He found no trace of either though,
    or reason for their flight.

    All night long he searched the land
    for any little spore:
    a lock of hair, a piece of cloth;
    yet he wished for more.

    He hoped to find his blessed two
    somewhere on the trail
    maybe hungry , maybe lost,
    maybe wan and pale.

    Alas for it was not to be;
    they were not anywhere.
    It was as if his two most loved
    had vanished in thin air.

    At last, around the witching hour
    when night bleeds into day,
    he finally found a sign, he hoped,
    to lead him on his way.

    Nestled 'neath a tow'ring tree
    two little things he found.
    His daughter's favorite rag doll
    was resting on the ground.

    The little doll, its hair straw-gold
    nearly brought him down.
    He may not see his girl again
    go skipping round and round.

    Ne’er again to see her face,
    alive with childish glee.
    Never know the joy he felt
    with her upon his knee.

    Besid the doll he knelt and saw
    his wife’s gold wedding band.
    In her haste to leave, he guessed,
    it’d fallen from her hand.

    For just a moment in his mind
    he watched her walk away;
    taking off that glitt’ring band
    and tossing it away.

    In his mind he saw the ring,
    a simple band of gold,
    as it struck the forest floor
    and there bagan to roll.

    It’s bouncing, rolling, twisting course
    his mind caused him to see,
    until the symbol of his love
    was resting ‘neath the tree.

    Laying there amidst the leaves
    the band lost all its shine.
    The sparkle faded into dust
    as it was left behind.

    His mind was playing evil tricks
    he knew this in his heart;
    still he thought this might be true,
    if only just a part.

    He knew his wife would never leave-
    she loved him very much.
    All at once he felt the sting:
    the absence of her touch.

    He made a vow, then, to the sky:
    he would not rest his head
    until his loves were safely home
    and sleeping in their beds.

    Returning home, he grabbed his pack
    and filled it to the brim
    with things he knew that he would need
    to reunite with them.

    Above the hearth there hung a sword-
    his father's ancient blade.
    He took it knowing nothing of
    the price yet to be paid.

    The ring he found beneath the bough
    he placed upon a string;
    the doll he placed into his pack
    amongst his other things.

    The string he tied around his neck,
    the sword gird at his waist,
    and gathering all he had stored
    prepared to make great haste.

    Tracing back his wand'ring steps,
    he went back to the tree.
    He searched around for any clue
    to where his loves might be.

    To the right a hidden path
    caught his searching eye,
    and led him to a barrow mound
    with blood-red rocks piled high.

    Atop the crimson rocks there sat
    a pillar carved of stone,
    the last existing monument
    to a warrior's bones.
    The totem carved upon that rock,
    with its silent stare,
    looked so evil as it sat
    cheshire grinning there.

    Glaring down into his soul
    the silent demon mocked
    laughing at the man below
    there upon the rock.

    The grip of fear's ice cold hand
    found his quaking soul-
    terror quickly coursed through him
    upon that rocky knoll.

    Thoughts unbidden came to him
    the greatest of his fears:
    of both his loved ones passed away-
    sending him to tears.

    He thought about the ones gone on
    to that peaceful place,
    and wondered where he would be
    when he had run his race.

    The good man climbed that blood soaked hill
    to better understand
    the hands which carved that fearsome beast,
    did they belong to man?

    Into the granite there was carved
    near the very base:
    "Here lies the great king,
    Boragor, savior of his race.

    He consented on his death
    to be ripped apart,
    so priests could feed this demon here
    his gore-encrusted heart.

    The heart of one so brave and bure
    so beloved and bold,
    bound the demon sleeping here
    in the stone so cold.

    As he read these words in rock
    he heard a haunting sound:
    the grind of rocks, as if to part-
    it made him turn around.

    There below where he now was
    there stood an awesome sight.
    A man of age had there appeared
    whose eyes were snowy white.

    The blind man seemed to peer through him
    to where the demon died.
    With aged voice the old man spoke,
    "I will be your guide."

    Staring at the spectral man
    the good man spoke and said,
    "Who are you that stands upright
    and looks like walking dead?"

    The monolithic figure of
    the ancient man just stared
    as if he had not heard a word,
    or simply did not care.

    Anxious to resume his quest
    but wary of this guide,
    he placed his hand upon the sword
    belted to his side.

    "I do not care if you are fiend
    or angel sent from God;
    as long as you can lead me on
    the path my loved ones trod.

    But listen well what e're you be,
    stand not in my way.
    Hinder me from finding them,
    I'll return you to your grave."

    For what seemed ages the two men stood,
    nothing being said.
    One whose world was torn apart,
    one too recent dead.

    At last the old man finally spoke
    in the voice of grating stones,
    "I am he whose rest you broke
    by treading on his bones.

    Long have I slept the sleep of death
    waiting for your step
    to fall upon this mound of rocks
    where my soul was kept.

    Under geas I was placed
    by those whose bloody hands
    spilt my crimson essence here
    to save these sacred lands.

    I was promised that one day
    I would walk again
    when the demon of despair
    gazed upon my kin.

    So I will never turn aside,
    whatever we may do,
    for my blood runs in your veins.
    Believe. I will be true."
    Stunned to silence the good man stood
    rooted to the place
    looking for a sign of lies
    within that withered face.

    Sightless eyes found his own
    -- held him in their stare,
    and proved the deepness of the truth
    that Boragor had shared.

    There was no doubt within those orbs,
    no form of deception;
    only his own searching face
    captured in reflection
    Thinking back to times far past
    when he was but a chilld,
    remembering his father's face
    with its easy smile.

    He knew his father would have told
    with familial pride,
    the story of this warrior
    and the way he’d died.

    "Think not poorly of your sire,"
    the old man softly spoke.
    "He knew nothing of my life
    and only held the hope

    that his son would one day grow
    into a good, strong man,
    so he could pass on all he'd earned
    with his own two hands.

    It is through your mother's blood
    that we two are bound;
    you were just a suckling babe
    when she was laid to ground.

    I will tell your mother's tale
    if you'd like to hear
    but this is not the proper spot;
    let's journey forth from here.”

    As they were walking through the trees
    his mother's tale was told.
    At times he felt his anger build;
    at times his blood ran cold.

    The good man did not believe
    much of what he heard,
    but still absorbed every fact,
    every spoken word.

    Ever onward through the wood
    following some trail
    only seen by one so old
    and seemingly so frail.

    Appearance, though, as oft it does
    a falsehood proved to be
    as that ancient, haunting man
    led them through the trees.

    After walking many miles,
    the old man called a stop
    and asked to rest within a ruin
    upon a tall hilltop.

    The place the blind man chose to camp
    was, in its prime, a fort
    in which some long-dead, not-quite king
    would sometimes hold his court.

    A lifeless courtyard ringed in stone
    lay before the pair.
    Not a single whisp’ring sound
    drifted in the air.

    The walls were thick and made of stone,
    a dried up moat around.
    Their footsteps on the cobbled stones
    made the only sound.

    Along the crumbling, broken walls
    in unerring line
    once proud towers skyward stretched
    some weathered short by time.

    No mice or rats or any kind
    of vermin was found in
    the place which held the lonely camp
    of the two of them.

    From a bag that he produced-
    almost from thin air-
    Boragor brought forth meat
    so they could break fast there.

    After both men had their fill
    each fell into slumber,
    into a land where one man faced
    demons without number.

    Trapped beneath the cloak of night,
    the good man tossed and turned,
    watching through his lidded eyes
    as all around him burned.

    He could hear the taunting jeers
    from his infernal hosts
    and every one affected him
    though they were naught but ghosts.

    "Your failure to protect your loves
    will bring you to this place.
    Even if your quest succeeds
    we will see you face

    as it burns within our flames
    and cries out its woe.
    Even if your loves forgive,
    you will not. You know."

    "Your daughter will not know your face."
    "Your wife has found another."
    "You will never find your child
    or her darling mother."

    On and on the torments piled,
    each a burning brand,
    urging him to take his life
    with his own two hands.

    Of course the good man knew that he
    could never take his life-
    especially before he found
    both his child and wife.

    "I will not surrender my
    life for your enjoy.
    I will not be your slave
    or some demonic toy.

    Even if they do not care
    if I live or die,
    I will not give up on them
    for they are my life."

    All at once the flames died out
    and the creatures ceased
    all their shouting, hell-made taunts
    and turned toward a beast

    that was prowling through the crowd
    and headed straight for him.
    It looked as if it would tear
    the good man limb from limb.

    Submitted on 2006-08-14 20:09:38     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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    ||| Comments |||
      The internet really isn't the best place to read this, my friend, but I gave it a shot because it's a story and I have one that's pretty long too. I'm also a fan of story poetry...
    Anyway, apart from various spelling "errors" (I dunno if they were purposefull) it's decent. Easy to follow. Simple rhyming scheme and what not. Felt like a folktale poem.
    Mysterious. I find myself wanting more and am sad that it is unfinnished. I think.
    Let me know if/when you get back to this, okay?
    | Posted on 2008-09-15 00:00:00 | by Mieko | [ Reply to This ]
      Such a tale you have going on here. And it seems that it is going to be going on and on....there still isn't any kind of conclusion I see.

    Throughout the whole thing....you did have me trapped in this. They way the story was told....all the way down to the way you spelled certain words.....it was all so captivating.

    You know that I have liked these all the while...but putting them all together definitely made it more meaningful.

    Such a mind being revealed in this. You show creativity above and beyond what is seen on this site.

    I commend you for this write....not many will take the time to read something this long...but I know if they gave it the chance....they would love it!

    Much love,

    Li Li
    | Posted on 2006-08-15 00:00:00 | by Munchie_1226 | [ Reply to This ]
      Li Li is right, this is wonderfully written. When I saw the amount of words in this poem my face went pale, I swear but I'm so glad I took the time to read it because I loved it so much. I was instantly sucked in but you've left me wanting and i honestly don't like that feeling. I'd love to know how it ends and I wonder if you haven't thought about turning it into a childrens book. You can always test it on your daughter, epecially if you have a friend who is into illatrations but if not a childrens book, a poetic- short story for teens. its not really heard of but I kinda like the idea. please let me know if you decide to add more to your piece.

    | Posted on 2006-08-25 00:00:00 | by firefoxvixen | [ Reply to This ]

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