They came to him, the king with crystal crown and crimson cape,
With courtly curtsies of contrition and conditions of escape
For lingered, he, beleaguered, long lamenting and alone
With little litanies and lines of logic littering his home

With weather always winter, lacking windows or the will
To see a world of waning worry, did he woefully go still
So more a shade or statute with a semblance of a soul
Beneath a certainty of sadness he could scarcely see below

They told him of a treasure that could take from him the trite
And tired terrors that attacked him so tyrannically at night
A map they said would minimize the measure of his mire
For it marked the destination of what most me might desire

He viewed it, though, in vain, and with a visage, vacant vexed
He vied for any vindication, but of virtue he was hexed
The single seen location set his stomach full of stones
For sadly there, he saw the simple truth, the map had squarely shone

“What kind of consolation,” he did he query, “could I claim
When thus consigned to cold conditions now so callously exclaimed?”
He saw it just as surely as a star set in the sky
And sat there somberly, and slowly did he simply start to sigh

“Do tell us truly of the treasure that you’d need to take”
They told the king, who, tired, told them, “Just retire…it’s a fake”
It wasn’t though, he wept a world of water when they went
For what he witnessed on the map was utter woe, and heaven sent

For placed upon the parchment was a prize he’d not pursue
For it was poison to a paradise, so perished it from view
His hollow little hopes of ever having ways to heal
For he would herald not the hell the map required he to feel

The bounty he beheld was not a beauty he could bear
To see benighted by the burdens he had built with his despair
He held the hope unto his heart, the help he couldn’t hold
For it was her that he had lost, the day his happiness was sold

He rested as if rust there in his residence of rain
Ruing the revelation of a remedy he couldn’t claim
He dreamt about the darkness dissipating into days
No longer dire, as the one forever dearest dared to say

“Whisper, if you once, into the wind of what we were
So will we be, if you would wake and wonder less of being sure,”
So sitting, still uncertain, with the map a siren’s song
He sighed, and whispered, silently, “My dear, I swear I won’t be long.”

So this is a bit of a rare occurrence for me. I got to the fourth stanza, and I was like, “Okay, time to wrap this up. Huh…nope, apparently it’s not done yet. I’ll…uh…yeah, fifth stanza for sure. Well…nope. Okay…sixth? Uh…seventh? EIGHTH?! Hey brain, why don’t you go ahead and wrap this up? I don’t do big poems, remember? That’s not my thing!”

Total count…10 stanzas. 10. And it took nearly an hour just to write it. *sigh*

Anyway…the biggest problem I was having is that, because it’s alliterative, it’s constrained twice…or, actually thrice. So, working around both a rhyme scheme AND an alliterative word scheme AND a specific meter…it got complicated.

Anyway…I don’t normally do these “talking after the poem is over moments” – I feel like, when I do, it comes off like credits after the movie. Maybe it doesn’t. I dunno. I suppose some people watch the credits.


8 thoughts on “Certainty

      1. “It might be months, or years, or days –
        I kept no count, I took no note,
        I had no hope my eyes to raise,
        And clear them of their dreary mote.
        At last men came to set me free,
        It was at length the same to me,
        Fetter’d or fetterless to be,
        I learn’d to love despair.”

        this one really has stood out for me lately. i hope you don’t mind my curiosity, but do you have any particular poems by him you like?

        Liked by 1 person

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