Tales of The Lad - Thief
The lad expected that it would swoop down,
All black and tortured grief,
He never saw the dull grey fog,
Conceal that shadowed thief.
The inciting incident,
In a tale both long and sad,
When that grim, disgusting creature,
Stole away that lad.
It sat itself upon a throne,
This sad, remorseful thing.
Usurped a better man than it,
And called itself his King.
It tainted all the lad did feel,
Acted like a jealous lover,
To keep the lad alone with it,
So he should know no other.
But the lad he was not faithful,
Often he would stray.
Sometimes gone for days at once,
When he could slip away.
But each and every time he did,
It would come, drag him back in.
And he'd be bloodied from the fight,
His soul more steeped in sin.
Each time the wounds cut deeper,
Kept him longer from the fight.
Each time more open to believe,
That all its lies were right.
The lad one day, he found some help,
From wise women three,
Each one with their insights,
Into mental sorcery.
Though the thing's grip had him tight.
They taught him to be stronger.
And gave to him the strength to wage,
This war a little longer.
They cleared a path to lead him,
To a sage of wizardry.
To a bastion of intellect,
Who could help him become free.
The sage picked him up and aided him,
Gave to him some crutches.
And sent him hobbling to a place,
Where he need not fear its clutches.
And in this land he found a thing,
Most wondrous in design.
A tiny, oval window,
Its surface thick with grime.
With spit and sleeve he got to work,
Cleared the muck away.
Rubbed until the glass was clear.
And from it came a ray.
A ray so bright, a bounteous light.
Stirring memories long gone.
As he stepped into its radiance,
And on his face it shone.
He saw something that moved him,
As he peered through the glass to see,
A hundred other windows,
And other souls like he.
It gave to him that final piece,
Clear within his sight.
He knew that he was not alone,
He had comrades in his fight.
He took strength from their numbers,
And sharpened up his sword.
Summoned his remaining strength,
And took himself to war.
It came shaking from its castle,
When it learnt of what he'd done.
The lad stood tall, looked down his nose,
"Come on, let's have you son."
The fighting it still rages,
Though now it's the one that shies.
For it sees now that he'll fight until,
Whichever one first dies.
Maybe one day that lad will win,
He'll cast it down and then,
Bind it in the dungeon,
Where it can't take other men.
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