Poetry
1 min
the Bellmaster
Edward Ley
I. Creep around, vines
Cornerstones, with faded
CRASH! Bass against cobbled rocks from the prairie which were placed long ago
THUNDER! Billows out of the sky-
A gift from Venus
Golden wheat
To rye
Brown-
Dark, with rusty tones
Through rust water flows
II. Only one soul lives down the old
Cobbled-stone-storm-beaten-church-by-the-old-stone-mill
Where they used to ground
Rye
And every morning
He rings the silent bell
And to the lord he says a morning prayer
That his bell will be heard
Heard by the people in the distant land who left
And they will rise
Through the floorboards- running- skipping
To join him
In the old-run-down-weather-beaten-storm-shook-church-by-the
fields-which-once-people-flocked to
but not anymore
III. On the top of the steeple, filled with-
Dirty rainwater
And then
He would walk over it
Step
By step,
Careful
To grab the knotted-
Rope
Wet, filled with soggy strings, he'd pull and out came
A glorious silver golden ringing
Hoops from the sky that pulsed
Pulsed just like his heart
Standing so close to a beast so powerful,
Thundering out silver song
wreaths of brilliant shine
The bell
The bell on the top of the tower
He'd sit and wait
While the ringing of his heart thump-thumping
Until the whole world fell silent
As if waiting
For him to pull it again
IV. Bellmaster, some called him,
Because he was
He knew nothing more
Nothing less
Than the old days
Walking downstairs-
Hurry!
The minister was about to speak- He'd say
Come!
My children!
And he would run-
To be his child
he would hurry
Scramble down stairs
To listen
To hear the beautiful nectarine-scented-plum-tasting-yellow-and-pink words from a
Stout
Leather
Book
Enter his ears
magic, for all it took was a
Grubby
Leather
Book
And all the colors in the universe were
dangling over a pew and-
There! Hazy purple drifting effortlessly over a-
There! Brilliant blue sparks, tangling itself with a-
But then the minister had closed his mouth-
gone with the others
Gone
Left, at least
A stout,
Grubby
Leather
Book
He'd stare at the book
strange marks on yellow page
And maybe
If he stared enough
The colors
Would come back to him
But maybe
The minister had taken the colors
With him
And left
Forever.
And so he rang.
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