Ever on the Move

“My servant, my precious servant

Do not pick up firewood from the outskirts of the forest

It only lasts a day and it’s part

Walk on deep into its heart

For there you shall find the key to the forest

And you shall want for wood no more

You will  light everlasting fires to keep us warm

Whose embers will burn brightly from dusk to dawn

You shall find relief for your weary feet

And permanent solace for your blistered hands

Your neighbours will look upon you and wonder

How you succeed where they flounder”

On I quickly marched into the forest

Armed with a machete in its sheath

I did not keel at the monster shadows trees cast at night

Nor the dense vegetation that dared stand in my way during the day

On I pompously marched deep into the forest

Fueled by the cruel pain from piercing thorns

Emboldened by visions of better things to come

Oblivious to the fallen souls reduced to bones in my path

On I marched unimpeded

Braving the bone-chilling howling of the wolves

And the whistling of the cold winds in the dark

Until I held the key to the forest close to my heart

When I returned marred and sapped

I found my city washed away by the sea

All my companions had fled

With rust and death, the ground bled

Downcast, I looked at the key dancing on my fingers

Where hope once lay, tears now lingered

“There is no place to light a fire master,” I cried

My master, Deceit, consolingly replied

“Worry not my dear servant

For there is yet another key to be found”

I looked up with a smile

And readied my feet to travel another mile

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