Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The Broken Bard

Inside the gate brave men stood guard,
With spears and swords, in ready stance -
Prepared to die for king and home,
Impaled on deadly rival lance.
Brave men, and bold, they stood their ground
While feral beasts in human form
Rushed at the gate with swords aloft -
A strident, manic, raging swarm.

But near the door, unarmed and weak,
There sat a man in still repose -
Unfrightened by the surging throng,
Indifferent to invading foes.
The younger son of twins he was,
Grown old and frail before his years,
For fate had taken all he loved,
And left him naught in life to fear.

With crippled limbs and blinded eyes,
For years he sat beside the street,
And sang his songs of grief and loss
With tender voice and lyric sweet.
On peaceful days as crowds would pass,
And hear his voice invade the throng,
The ones who loved pure beauty paused
To hear his melancholy song.

Among the people of that land,
Who stopped to hear his dulcet tone,
His only name: "The Broken Bard,"
His true name lost and long unknown.
So proud they were to have such song
Adorn the entrance of this place -
For even strangers spoke with awe
Of brokenness that hid such grace.

And though the peace is lost and gone,
Still sits the Bard alone and still,
And weaves their pain into a song
Unheard beneath the battle shrill -
Except when soldiers fall at last,
Their gaze would meet those blinded eyes,
And to their ears would come sweet hope
To lift their souls beyond the skies.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site