THE POEM THAT ALL TREES KNEW
PILGRIM
Nought was an old puzzling tree. The entire four days I stayed with him in his park, he grumbled and grunted, trying to remember the ending verse to The Poem that All Trees Know. However, Nought was the last tree in 100 blocks in every direction having no other trees to ask for the ending verse. So there he stood, puzzling and puzzling and puzzling. The park was a sliver of grass, dirt, and trash, nestled between three streets creating a small triangle. It was bordered by a black iron fence with one cracked paved pathway that led from the north end to the south. Nought stood in the middle. The park’s lone inhabitant. I arrived late one morning, after wandering the summer night, I asked many of the Elder Statues that littered the District, all of whom were not accommodative in the least. But Nought, who I finally arrived to just as sun came to light, said that I may stay if I helped him remember the last verse to the Poem that All Trees Know. Exhausted, I agreed.
NOUGHT
I was a seedling here, long before the Statues grew. And after the Statues, the Buildings grew, and where buildings grow, so too do the humans. The people used to play with their dogs amongst us, and we used to give them fruit. For there once were many trees that dotted this area. And on days where the great Life-Giver shined, we would recite The Poem that All Trees Know, that went like thus; “I have seen the sun over woven woads. Its golden rays make way for shining roads; The warmth it brings, a gentle lulling song; When feathered wings beat bold, good fortune bodes; Its light, to see your smile lighten my heart Your sweet touch, does the great sun’s fire odes Yet as that sun sets in the azure sky…
PILGRIM
Old Nought then stopped and grumbled.
NOUGHT
The last line…It eludes me.
PILGRIM
I remarked that the ending was a beautiful testament. That the subject of the poem sparks love, joy and meaning in the speaker, like the Sun sparks light and warmth in its surroundings. But the boughs of his trunk simply groaned in the wind.
NOUGHT
But it is not the final line. Therefore it is not its true end. Be careful Pilgrim, for everything must have its true end, even the trees.
PILGRIM
I frankly was no poet back then, but over the few days I stayed with Nought, I tried earnestly to finish the poem. Yet I had no rhyme, nor scansion, nor imagery that could shake the old tree to remember the true last line Nought wasn’t surprised and on my last day in the park, he lent me some nuts and small fruits for my journey, and bid me good travels, without upholding my end of the bargain.
NOUGHT
I had no business asking you to remember the last line. You are not of bark or branch, what hope had you? Farewell pilgrim. Seek the great Life-Giver, well.
PILGRIM
As I left for the next leg of my journey, I looked back and waved to Nought. His branches waved back, and the old tree went back to puzzling over his forgotten poem that all trees knew.
NOUGHT
“I have seen that sun over woven woads, Its golden rays make way for shining roads. The Warmth it brings, a gentle lulling song, When feathered wings beats bold, good fortune bodes; Its light, to see your smile lighten my heart, Your sweet touch, does the great sun’s fire odes Yet as that Sun sets in the azure sky…Sky…Sky”
THE LION STATUE BEFORE THE BUILDINGS.
PILGRIM
I came across a lion statue in a cobblestone square. Its mouth was bearing its teeth, and its paw rest upon a shield whose sigil was worn by ages of weather. I stared into its pupil-less eyes. Wondering how it got here. Who made it? What was it for? It spoke.
LION
How Rude. Do you always stare so blankly at folk, Pilgrim?
PILGRIM
I stopped in puzzlement. Many questions flooded into my mind, the first I managed to ask was how it knew I was a pilgrim
LION
You reek of chasing the Sun. Holy sweat smells different than that of physical exertion.
PILGRIM
Wiping my brow, I apologized for my rude staring, and asked its pardon for I did not know it was alive.
LION
I am not Alive. I am a statue. But I still have the spirit within me.
PILGRIM
I did not bother to clarify and instead asked it how it got here.
LION
All the statues here stood long before any building. And when the buildings came, the people came after. It's simple.
PILGRIM
Apparently so, I said. Is that all statues in the city? I asked.
LION
Sure, how should I know? I never left this district. Never left this spot!
PILGRIM
I could take you to see other districts if you’d like, I replied.
LION Poposterous! Then who would guard this cobblestone square? Go off now, you trouble me.
PILGRIM
I obliged.
GOD HOUSE
PILGRIM
On some street. In some district. I came across a plain stone building. Above it was a once elegant sign, now weathered and chipped, reading, “God House”. Intrigued I knocked. The doors opened, revealing a being, robed and veiled. And beneath the robes and veils a brilliant blue light shone, illuminating through the cloth and garments.
THE GOD
Good ‘Marrow Mortal. Hast thou come to worship?
PILGRIM I told them, I had not come to worship, for I followed the sun through the City Unending. The veiled figure sighed, the shoulders of their robe drooped.
THE GOD
Many a cycle hath past since any hath come here seeking me. The sun hath many pilgrims….I did once as well…Come pilgrim, and I shall show thee splendor.
PILGRIM
I entered their home. Splendor, it was not. The beams of sunlight that penetrated into the rooms swirled with dust in the air. Everything held a hefty layer of grime, as trash littered the ground and counter tops. The god waited for my response. All I could muster was a neutral, “Very nice.” I imaged if the sun that I chased had a home, it would look nicer than this.
THE GOD
Would’st thou like to witness my Garden?
PILGRIM
Without answer I was whisked off to another part of the house and through a rusted screen door, They led me to a back courtyard. Covered in cracked stone, with dry beds of black soil, barely even a weed in sight. At the far back was an ornate stone bench, covered in brown dying vines. The walls were high and reached to the sky, lined with windows each sporting a trough of dead plants.
THE GOD
It was here that the worshippers gathered! I would sit upon my dais of stone. The worshipers sang songs and danced for me, and if it pleased me, I clouded the sky and drowned out their songs with rolls of thunder, I flooded them with a downpour of life giving water. And oh, the plants! Oh how verdant the plants would be! Ah, but that was long ago. Now the soil bears no life.
PILGRIM
I felt awkward. I had no wish to worship. But it felt incredibly rude to leave a god grieving. So I mustered what I could and told the God to sit in their stone chair. Which they quickly did and sat, their gloved hands folded in their lap. I opened my mouth and sang the only song I remember. “This little light of mine. I’m gunna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!”
THE GOD
Good pilgrim good! …Now dance. Dance for me.
PILGRIM
I hoped that the Sun I chased would not mind me worship with its outcaste sibling. I figured it wouldn’t, so I Repeated that same verse over and over again, I began to dance as I had in my youth, with my hands on my hips and my feet a blur. Once I awkwardly finished, The god burst into applause,
THE GOD
Surly thou art a bard of some renown! For that song is like sweet honey unto my ears and your jig, a light unto my heart! I feel as though I could thunder again!
PILGRIM
They stood slowly from the stone throne. Lifted their hands to the veil, and drew it from their face. Blue light crackled brilliantly from the unveiled space, the clap of thunder rolled nearby. I glanced at the sky, dark and brooding. Blue flashes appeared and disappeared at will. And with one powerful crack, a wall of rain dropped from the clouds. It fell with such force I was knocked to the garden floor. It took me a moment to reach my feet, but once I did, water began to rise around my waist. It reached my chest when my foot snagged under a flagstone. The water began to fill my mouth when I looked up and pleaded for mercy. I was their only subject, would they drown me when I gave them such praise as they had thirsted for these many lonely years? My eyes stung with rain water as The God veiled themselves once more. But the water had already filled my lungs, burning spread through my chest as I silently screamed for air. My vision began to blur as I saw the God gently gliding through the water toward me. Their gloved hand touching my face.
THE GOD
Free thy lungs mortal. Breath the air and smell the petrichor.
PILGRIM
Water drained into the earth. The rain expelled from my body, as the sun peaked through the clouds. I lay there, gulping air, as the God cradled my head in their velvet hands.
THE GOD
Go now. And tell others what thou hast seen here.
PILGRIM
Rising to my feet I ran out of the house. My lungs heaving with every step. Once outside, I caught my breath, the smell of wet concrete punctured my nose. And everything was dripping with rain. I caught sight of the house mailbox full of flyers. They read; “Come and Worship! Services at Dawn, Noon, and Dusk” I took them all. And walking down the street I threw them in a dumpster outside a bar.
THE RIVER WIZARD
PILGRIM
I came across a river with a stone tower by it. The door was open so I walked in and ascended up the spiral stair case. At the top was an open room, full of runes and sigils carved into the rock. A large arched singular window was the only source of light. And sitting in front of the window was a Wizard. Grey in beard and ancient of age, he sat staring, peering down at the river that ran below. I asked the wizard why he sat here, watching the water.
WIZARD
I sit in ever watch for the river demons. They have surfaced before. They will again. And this time, I shall be ready. My spells are keen, and my wits are sharp. I’ve trained so that what happened to my predecessor shall never happen again…
PILGRIM
I nodded, and decided to leave, just in case the river demons decided to surface sooner rather than later.
THE LIBRARY
PILGRIM
Once, when I was young and dumb, I found myself in the belly of a massive and archaic library, face to face with what I thought to be the statue of a dragon. I had wandered in, embracing the thrill of urban exploration, as the library bore the heavy weight of time upon it. It’s wrought iron fence was bent, its courtyard statues had ivy cling to them as a babe does with their mother, and the beautiful stained glass windows cracked, creating tears in their rainbow rays. In the library I had come across a queer sight. A long slithering column that weaved in and out of the thousands of shelves the library held. It was ivory colored, and carved in the likeness of scales in a featherlike fashion. I followed it down, down, down to the deepest depths of the building. On a pile of precious books, neatly stacked to create a bed, lay the bulk of the mysterious slithering column I had been following. The cylinder of ivory turned into a large chest. Similar to the breast of a shepherding dog. From the chest it boasted two meaty arms, looking like the front legs of an alligator, at the end of which were talons of a harpy eagle. But the most striking feature was its head. Connected to the torso by a length of thick neck, The head was long and equine. Beaked at the end, and sporting nostrils that released coils of inky smoke. Its snout was crested by horns leading into two great antlers that curved like those of a horned ram. Its eyes, were closed. At first I thought it a real creature. A silly thought, as the library’s courtyard was littered with ivy scorned statues. And then the statue moved. It had been laying like a dog in front of a fire place, its talons under its head. Until one of the talons moved, scratched behind the horns and the beast rolled over onto its back. I froze, for this dragon, this Book-Wyrm was alive and breathing. I froze. Minutes felt like years as I restricted my breathing and kept every muscle in check. Thats when I had a fool’s idea. “What a treasure the book from a Book-Wyrm’s hoard would make!” As I said, I was young and dumb, and often the young mistake stupidity for bravery, so I advanced and carefully plucked a book from the Wyrm’s bed. A green tome, emblazoned with a golden leaf on its cover. With a sweaty brow and a light sigh, I turned and tip toed my way toward the exit However I was interrupted by a deep, soft and lulling voice.
BOOK-WYRM
Excuse me youngster, do you wish to check this book out? Or just borrow it for the afternoon?
PILGRIM
I turned to see the Book-Wyrm’s head raised up, its talons crossed over each other like a house cat’s, and its glowing eyes trained on me. I was dumbfounded, no words could escape my throat as one talon carefully and gently took the book from my hand, and the other placed a pair of Pince-nez glasses on its elongated face.
BOOK-WYRM
Ah yes! The book of lost poetry! It’s a collection of ancient verse, collected by an unknown author. An excellent read. Are you a poet, youngster?
PILGRIM
I told the Book-Wyrm I was a Pilgrim.
BOOK-WYRM
Ah! Just the same as all the others. Very well, I am more than happy lend this volume to you, youngster! As long as you have a library card. PILGRIM I told the wyrm, that I had no card, and asked if I could apply for one. However the old beast became morose, its eyes glazing over.
BOOK-WYRM
My partner, the Black Book-wyrm, was the librarian who oversaw card applications…but its been sometime since her demise. I alone am left to tend to the books. You are more than welcome to borrow the book to read here in the Library, however it must not leave these walls. Do I make myself clear, Pilgrim?
PILGRIM
I tucked the book into my chest and nodded my head vigorously. The large dragon removed its pince-nez. And bid me a good day. I said good day and promised to leave the book in a return cart. It smiled as it closed its eyes and returned to its soundless slumber. I walked back up to the stairs into the main hall of the Library. Once the massive front door was in view, I began to think to myself, “I don’t care much for poetry. Nor do I really wish to stay here longer. I’ll leave now, and take the book with me. The Book-Wyrm is sleeping. It will never know it is missing even one book.” As soon as the thought of taking the book from the library crossed my thoughts, a booming voice came from the belly of the library.
BOOK-WYRM
TREACHERY! THEIF! BURGLAR!
PILGRIM
Its serpentine body that lay around and in between all the shelves began to move like a train at full speed. Soon the meaty arms of the Book-Wyrm scrambled up the stair case, its nostrils flaring and releasing thick plumes of ethereal smoke. Its eyes glowing like coals in a roaring fire. It reared its great neck back and a throatal roar erupted from the beast. It wasted no time in diligently weaving through and climbing over the shelves, disturbing not even the smallest scroll. I ran, scrambled and bolted my way to the front. I looked back to see the Wyrm’s talon swiping toward me. I instinctually lifted the only thing I had to protect me. The green tome. Truly, I tell you, I was millimeters from being torn asunder. But the book fell victim to the swipe. The talon slashed through the tome with ease, sending a burst of tanned paper confetti into the air. The Wyrm halted, horrified. It frantically flailed, snatching as many shreds of paper as it could from the air. I also reached my own hand out and grabbed a sliver of page, dashing out the door and down past the iron gate. I turned one last time, seeing the dragon writhing in agony, the coiling of its body shifting like a screw, it roared a guttural, painful bellow. It released sickening bouts of black ichor from its maw, covering the steps in a waterfall of tar. The large wooden door, slowly closed over this sight and regaining my breath, I walked on, turning to the City Unending, greeting me with its setting sun. Back then, I was full of pride, for I had bested a dragon. But now, as I retell you this story. I confess great shame. I looked to the shred of paper that I had managed to snatch. Scribed in green ink was a single line of some long lost poem. “So too, do you, and so my soul erodes.”
END.
