2Upon this dreary, bleak September,
I chance my luck to right remember
The day I came upon a thing to hold
As rare can be, and old as old.
Upon that withered window sill,
An Elf-lad spoke his withered will,
That when life fades from his plagued limbs
That I may finish off his whims.
Now, Elves have little place or time
Within the realm of Men, of mine,
So no regard I herein gave.
Foolish me; all truths are save.
He spoke to me in brittle words,
"Please, I beg you, find the chords
That once my father bore aloft.
You'll find them in your kingdom's loft.
"This house is old," he said to me.
"Memories of war and peace
Echo off its tired walls.
Treasures buried here are tall,
"But out of each and every gem,
The only gold not pence condemned -
The tome that holds my father's song -
Find it, keep it, hold it long."
There he perished, the Elven lad;
There I left him, dreary, sad,
To search below my cellar door.
Surely this, and nothing more.
Within my stately cellar's halls,
A minor flaw upon the walls
Of brick and plaster roused my eye.
With tools I made the plaster fly.
A regal room, adorned with wealth
Of every kind, from gold to pelts
And dressed from floor to shining roof
In elder runes of Elven sooth
Was right before my lying eyes.
"Amazing," I instinctly vied.
I'd heard the tales of Man and Elf;
Never had I perceived their wealth.
I thought again upon the words -
Wondrous language of the birds -
Spoke aloft by that sickly lad.
I searched the room for book or pad.
In corners west and south and east,
Cases loomed as graceful beasts
Against the shimmering golden walls.
One book caught my eye; it called.
I pulled forthwith the emerald card -
Perhaps Earth gem, perhaps some shard
Of Elven lands from long ago.
I drew it close and read thus so:
"Ballad of the Myriad Lost".
The words were penned like silvered frost
In language not of Men or Elves.
I know not how I took these delves.
The pages were of fabric fair,
Imbued with gold and silvered care
To length with words unknown to all.
Still I read them - a curious call.
From pages gold there flowed the words
Into my mind, as if in chords,
Accompanied by sweet melody,
Though no minstrels could I see.
"The ballad of the myriad,"
Began the mystic song's triad,
"Of sea, and sky, and earth, and air
Fades away like hidden lair,
"Yet each new season's Yule brings forth
A renewed vim and vigor's berth.
Accurséd, blesséd, Men now live
By good angels tenanted.
"We, the Lords of lands unknown,
Offer gifts to those Men who roam
The wild, untamed lands beyond:
The mountains, valleys, forests, ponds.
"Take what wisdom your strength allows:
Know you Love, and Hate, and Vows.
Know you Anger, Fear, Deceit.
Know you Valor, Courage, Fate.
"We will guide you, now and always,
Through the twisty roads and strays
Of life's unceasing watchful eye.
We, the Lords, are by your side."
The tales my father told were true.
The Elves, they perished long ago.
The Elf-lad who had perished since
Was not an Elf. He was a prince -
A prince of worlds, a prince of lives,
A prince of kingdoms fair and wise.
The silvered words were penned by Gods.
The tome was not of mundane sod.
The book I placed upon the shelf
With knowledge, wisdom, of myself
And all who walked the world before.
Only this, and nothing more.
When I withdrew, the portal made
By my hand went soon to fade
And have the wall return to old.
The treasure rested in my soul.
With the passing of the tome
Came a new God to govern home.
The Elves are dead, the Gods did flee,
And now, my fate will rest on me.
Men are Men and Elves are Elves,
As myths and legends bear their shelves,
And Gods are Gods, but none combined.
No Man is God or Elf to find.
The Elves have died, the Gods are gone,
And we remain to rule our throng.
They say no Man can be a God?
They are wrong, by Man's own law.
The only thing that pins us down
Is ignorance or unchecked crown,
For wisdom is now all we lack.
Find your soul. Secure your tack.
We are what we live to be.
Through our own eyes our world we see.
Mind yourself to know your lore,
And this, all this, is yours.