The Storyteller:
Once there was a strange old man,
With so many tales to tell,
That his head was always full,
His mind a knowledge well.
He did little all day long,
His stories were his life,
No children to call his own,
Nor a love to call his wife.
So many stories in his mind,
And yet he told no single one,
He was just a strange, old man,
Whom people took for stricken dumb.
Once a year, he’d leave his house,
For a walk around the lake,
An old tree limb for a cane,
Gentle footprints in his wake.
I saw this man one day,
And right away I knew the key,
The way he told his timeless stories,
They’re not to hear, but just to see.
I was told of all his tales,
By one look upon his face,
I did not need a single word,
For they would only go to waste.
Every wrinkle in his skin,
All the flicker in his eyes,
The slight shuffle in his legs,
His mouth the shape of morning tides.
His tales streamed forth forever on,
With the wind, rose in the sky,
Too great for tiny, mortal words,
To a place they’d never die.
He could tell so many stories,
Am I the only one to see?
Way beyond this strange, old man,
The storyteller that was he.
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2 users responded in this post
I like that..it’s sad but not depressing.
Very nice craig.
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