brown wooden harp on garden

I have heard you play the harp 

and sing when the spirit of the Shaper

has entered you and know your songs

of victories and defeats, trust and betrayal

is our story cast on other characters 

in another time.  You cannot sing the song

of here and now and yet you cannot be 

silent.  A pleasing voice.  Tales well-told

and the magic of words has sometimes held

me long enough outside the walls of Hart

Hall for me to cast a reprieve for the night,

a weakness of mine, a refusal to attack.

I go back and leave no sign of my visit;

you know nothing how the words

have moved me, those shared memories

that have made us more than brothers,

those shared memories that have made 

our lives our story – king and monster,

the curse of each and each of us seeking

some kind of victory or defeat to hear

the final verse repeated and the echo

of a final note.  I, too, play and sing

but unheard by anyone.  No-one pounds

tables, calls for mead; I have no hall 

but yours and when I do sing there all 

you hear are screams, the songs of death

you taught me, O brother, O king, hee, hee, hee.

hootism:  you can’t use words without one eternal naging question:  What do they mean? hee, hee, hee