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Posted Thu Nov 10th, 2011 10:03pm Post subject: 1st Attempt At An Epic Poem



Samuel Hardy woke in the dark,

From wine his head asunder,

He donned his wig and silken sark,

Tucking black locks thereunder;

On horseback Sam Hardy left his abode,

His dog followed at heel,

‘Come little dog’ and on they rode,

Their demeanour falsely genteel.


On Cantell they did fall one weekly eve,

A town of poor and downtrod,

Samuel smiled, ‘Its here we will feed,

And sell these folks a new god’;

To the end of the town Samuel did ride,

Spilling some coin from his bag,

The townsfolk did clamber and scratch in the mud,

Kicked up by the shoes of his nag.


His sonorous voice did capture their ears,

As he spoke of what was to come,

He cleverly played upon all their fears,

Their weakened minds were won;

‘You’ll make silver and gold’ he pledged to the proles,

His silver tongue did entice,

‘Of you I’ll make bold and save your souls,

But first lets speak of my price’.


Too quick to agree to Samuels demands,

They gave him all he asked,

Samuel inwardly rubbing his hands,

As their sewan he amassed;

‘Tell us the way’ the crowd did sound,

Eager Sam’s words to invoke,

A cloud it descended over the town,

The darkness inside did provoke.


‘Now listen ye all for this ye must do,

If this god ye adore ,

The weak of the town ye must kill,

And feed on their innards and gore’;

A gasp it arose from the listening throng,

As the abstracts arose in their minds,

Then suspicion and fear from the old and the young,

Dark eyes of the crowd them did find.


An orgy of murder did quickly ensue,

As the bodies of timid expired,

Hearts were cut out as the madness grew,

True evil that Sam had inspired;

‘We’ll made silver and gold’ the people did sing,

As they sipped on gourded wine,

‘Of us you’ll make bold’ they danced in a ring,

On the hearts of the weak they did dine.


When the meek and the mild had all been culled,

The rest turned on one another,

From the fusillade red none were lulled,

Father, son, sister, brother;

Soon all were dead as the red blood smelled,

On the silent streets of poor Cantell,

Through the sharp wind the angelus bell’d,

‘Now time to move on’ said Samuel.


Samuel Hardy continued his quest,

Spreading word and death where he coursed,

They rode far and long into the west,

Many people from their lives were quick’ divorced;

Sam’s pockets ‘came deeper from all the money,

His eyes grew black and frowned,

Belly distended from beer and honey,

His dog a rabid hound.


Tired from travel they slept.


Awake at the dawn Samuel confused,

For his skin seemed tight, his eyes sharply bemused,

‘There’s something amiss’ he said scratching his head,

‘Things have changed since I went to bed,

How curious, how strange, how oddly fantastic,

My skin has regained its natural elastic,

My hair is now full and my abdomen flat,

My behind has lost its gelatine fat!’


Even his dog now pranced around,

No longer the drooling snarling hound,

‘Come here little dog and let us rejoice’,

And they sang a sweet tune in a unified voice,

Even his thoughts were light and agreeable,

‘What a turn of events, this was not foreseeable,

That the fountain of youth I seem to have found,

By sleeping here on this rocky ground’


When all of a sudden came a ghostly fist,

Grabbing Sam’s throat, stifling breath with strong wrist,

He tried to break free from this unknown assassin,

But the more he struggled tighter fingers did fasten,

‘Samuel son of mine’ a voice it boomed,

From his toes to his tips the voice it consumed,

‘Your life is now over, you’re in my hands,

For once you will listen to another’s demands’.


The voice continued unabated,

Its intent and desire distinctly unsated,

Samuel wished for his life to be ended,

Realising twas better than t’be apprehended,

‘You’re right Samuel, to be afraid,

But what’s to come you cannot evade,

Your life thus far has brought nought but hell,

But now that which you marr’d you must now make well’.


‘Your improved appearance is not for your gain,

But so that others will welcome to their domain,

You and your dog to then renew,

The people’s faith in life, two by two,

So back to Cantell you now must go,

Via the eastern plains plateau,

That first you can see your evil destruction,

A starting point high for your deconstruction’.


So off they went obediently east,

Their fear and fright not nearly ceased,

Slowly they walked unsure of heel,

Not quite sure if what happened was real,

‘Cept for the marks on Sam’s neck which throbbing did act,

With their drops of blood and bruises blacked,

That his life as he knew it was firmly past,

And what was to come would sharply contrast.


The plateaux they climbed as before told,

Overlooking Cantell Sam’s blood ran cold,

Where before he had seen fools and soft quintain,

He now saw blood death and pain,

‘Damn and curse this new perspective,

Have my eyes become defective,

Is this hell truly my fault?

To this world’s wounds am I the salt?’


‘Yes you are’ the voice did return,

Causing Sam’s innards to toil and churn,

‘Your education is now complete,

For you will not return to Cantell’s streets,

Your realisation is all I was after,’

The voice boomed with Homeric laughter,

‘Now that you evil has been declared,

For your painful death now you are prepared’.


‘But what of my healing as you said?,

To repay the people I had bled,

To restore my soul from its fate,

To revive the lives I did desecrate,

And what use of this body you have granted,

To employ for those works above incanted,

To birth this new realisation,

That my life as past was an abomination?’


The voice just laughed.


‘You were lulled to think you were given,

A second chance of proper living,

Which makes this act of your death,

By allowing you one last breath,

A most shocking lesson, a modern sermon,

So that people that follow can only determine,

That evil begets evil and eclipses the good,

And those that do deliberate evil must be expired,

Not understood.’


Sam did not cry or wail or flee,

He stood there and nodded and politely agreed,

‘You’re right o voice, in what you have said,

That folk such as me are better off dead,

For the good of the world,

This tale has unfurled,

And as I die I lament,

Those pitiful lives I did discontent.’


At this point my reader I sense you expect,

Some form of redemption, a chance to reflect,

No matter what we do there remains the favour,

Of righting our wrongs, appeasing a saviour,

But this here tale it has no such ending,

As Samuels death is truly impending,

So as we reach the inevitable twist,

Do not expect deliverance for our protagonist.


The voice’s hand reached out to Sam,

Once more grabbed his neck in a vice like clam,

And as his last cold breath made a requiem arc,

Samuel Hardy awoke in the dark.


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