Okay here is the (unfinished) story of mine, thought I would see how well epics are received around here...lol
The Story teller
Twas a misty morning when he came to town
The dawn came slowly as if floating down
Are you that sure its him, they asked of all
We just don't remember him so tall
Dressed he was, Near all in black
with him was carried a small little sack
its strap was worn thin, from so many miles
the sack carried books, stuffed full of smiles
He went straight to the school house, sat on a stump
put on some glasses, on his nose they did bump
he reached for a book sort of read for awhile
while the crowd gathered, for they now knew his style
He looked up once, twice, and when the crowd swelled
He cleared his throat his stories to tell
The first story was short
an introduction of sort
He then started in, so slow to begin
He painted great pictures of places he'd been
He told of blue fairies evil giants with limps
he had us all laughing, when he mentioned those imps
They seemed so real, for words were his brush
the air was his canvas, he left us in hush...........
We came to know the fairies all by name
The giants by deed, the imps by their flame
This story it built, to a thunderous roar
He stopped for a moment, we all yelled, "please more!"
He played at our heart strings, a devilish man
he kept us all spell bound, for that was his plan
the space in his words had us pulling at grass
brought tears to the eyes of each lad and lass
for he built to past climax, making time near stand still
a blue fairies in trouble, Its hopeless until
The Imps, they change colors, chase the giants away
The imps they're the heros, for they save the day
We all breathed again, as the he drew to a close
it ends when a moral, an ending he chose
What unlikely heros, those devilish Imps
he caught us again made us feel all like simps
The story had ended yet still we did sit
we looked down at our hands, then each other a bit
For this tale he had told, touched something inside
it bothered us some, that was hard to deride
for the story you see, was no simple tale
it had meanings in meanings, had us chasing at sails
The older the child, the more perplexing it was
voices were raised, they started to buzz
He paid no attention, no questions he'd hear
some children asked loudly, that brought on some jeers
He reached for his sack, in his books he did put
stood up from the stump and raised a right foot
Then followed his left, then turns they both took
til he neared the road and turned for a look
then spoke to the youngest, for he'd understood
the tale he had told us, the tales from the wood
turned and he wondered on down the trail
he looked somewhat injured, he looked somewhat more frail
I was a mere child, when he first came to town
I was the youngest, a small sort of clown
He'd spoke to me then, for I'd understood
All he had said, well, all that I could
I've tried to continue his work, no, not for me
but for the others..... in hopes, hopes they might see
for He'd spoke of fairies, Imps and then giants
he'd spoke with an air of great self reliance
I know I fall short, still searching I am
for that great tale and how it began
that I came to chose, this uncertain path
how to tell you his story and not show you my wraith
for I understood then, as I understand now
I wished you could see it, but still I ask how
How can I tell you, so much left unsaid
and now he is gone, beneath a green bed
But, he came many times, in my younger years
he built on our hopes, helped quiet my fears
and each story seemed, to build on his last
they looked to the future, but, told of things past
called an old bum, when no where aroun
but all came to hear him, when he came to town
And sometimes, I so wish, wish, he had knew
just what he'd meant, to a small boy turning two
See, He just never knew, what he'd started, you see
that his stories so dear..... Made a Story Teller of Me