There was a time in the distant past
When cobblers fashioned footwear on a last
When a blacksmith was considered dangerous
Forced to live outside the village and away from us.

The force of the bellows pumped by his apprentice
Caused such sparks that close timber, thatch and lattice
Were vulnerable to fire and conflagration,
So they had no option than to live in isolation.

Darkened by the soot and smoke from the charcoal fire
A strong black man was assumed to be a man of ire,
But in reality his art was secret, deemed magical,
Merlin’s friend, sung by minstrels in a madrigal.

The legend of Arthur pulling sword from stone
Was only half the story, half the wish bone.
For there were two such weapons of choice
And only one was given magical name and voice.

A voice that struck fear into the hearts of foes
A dramatic change from peasants’ sickles and hoes
The blade would whine and flash like lightning,
Those who pit their black hearts agin’ suffered blinding.

Both blades were fired from stone by blacksmith’s art
But only one was given life by the blackened bard,
The other lost, but found again in resurrection
Called for from the deep by magical action.

The place of mystery was the deep dark lake
Summoned by spell bound words of the Corn Crake.
Not many speak this unusual croaking bellow
Except the mysterious blackened fellow,

Whose call echoed from the back of his docile moke
The call ‘crek crek’ changed by the incessant smoke
That ignorants would jeer and think of as a joke
They laugh at the unknown, these frightened folk!

The lake where swords of long gone lords were thrown
Gave up its treasure for the One to claim His throne,
With the proviso that it be returned to the deep
Until He could claim again, should He His promise keep.

Is it time for a Magician to call Excalibur from the lake
Has Arthur returned, His promise again to make?
Do you recall your time as a member of His Court,
When you enjoyed such rare company in the Fort?

This was a time of mystery following a Lord of Light.
Some are already here once again, but to love not fight.
Our quest is different now. We are the bringers of the light
Woven with wisdom to make minds clear and bright!

So, is the pen really mightier than the sword?
Is wisdom wrapped around the written word?
If so, read with care between these lines and words
For you may find a Magician fabricating swords!

© David Tenneson 2014.


About David

Devonian writer
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