Tanglewood… a story in a thimble

“What am I to be this time,” I asked of my old friend,
the messenger I called Gavri’el, as we walked together
along a wooded road… ”Fool or monarch?”
“It all depends on your perspective, but if I were you,”
he said with a sad smile, “I’d choose butterfly over clown.”
“You know exactly what I meant, you sly poet.”
“Ah,” he replied, “But do you?”
“Perhaps the question you should be asking,” said Gavri’el,
“Is how pure is your heart, how certain your intention,
how strong is your love?” And so we walked,
pushing aside branches of distraction
that reached for me, leaving him untouched.
And then we came upon a slight rise, fresh breezes
ruffling our hair and our clothes, and we spied her,
standing on her own in the gloom, blade at her side,
watching fervently, hoping for the rising sun.
“There is your answer,” he offered. “She waits in trust
for your truth.  Are you the king she wants and needs,
or are you another foolish jester?” “I am—afraid,” I replied.
“Love cuts deepest when it’s most real, my young friend,
because then it is that you have no choice but to kneel,
and trust that the sword deems you worthy, instead of
the alternative.  But either way, you bleed.”

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