| General Fiction posted April 20, 2019 |
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It happened in the forest.
Silver Words
by Heather Knight
A long, long time ago, in a dark forest where the sun never shone, there lived a wizard who loved writing poetry but didn't have the skills.
One day, a traveling poet went past his hut, and the wizard asked him question after question about his job.
'And how do you turn prose into poetry?' he wanted to know.
The poet, who couldn't help being mischievous, told him, 'Well, first you put your paragraph inside a pot of liquid gold, then you add some dandelions and three hummingbird feathers.'
'And then what?' the wizard asked impatiently.
'Then you stir the mixture and, after an hour, your paragraph will have become beautiful poetry.'
The poet went on his way and the wizard did as he had been told. The thing is, apart from not being good at poetry, he was not very bright.
When he took his parchment out of the pot and saw it was still prose, he got furious.
He ran after the poet and confronted him.
'You tricked me,' he said, out of breath.
'It was just a joke.'
'Nobody laughs at me.'
He took a twisted magic wand out of the pocket of his robe and pointed it at the poet.
'What are you doing?'
'I'm going to strip you of your magic ability to braid words into music and I'm going to keep it for myself,' he said in a rare burst of eloquence.
'You can't do that,' the poet told him.
He thought if somebody stole his poetry, he would die.
But the wizard ignored him and sang an incantation in a weird language with no vowels.
The poet sat on the ground and cried and the wizard went back home without saying goodbye or sorry.
When he got to his hut, he started writing a poem, but it was as bad as the ones he'd always written.
In the meantime, deep in the forest, the poet was thinking in verse.
The wizard hadn't realized that to separate a poet from his silver words, you have to kill him and steal his soul. Because poetry and poet are so tightly bound, nothing can tear them apart.
A long, long time ago, in a dark forest where the sun never shone, there lived a wizard who loved writing poetry but didn't have the skills.
One day, a traveling poet went past his hut, and the wizard asked him question after question about his job.
'And how do you turn prose into poetry?' he wanted to know.
The poet, who couldn't help being mischievous, told him, 'Well, first you put your paragraph inside a pot of liquid gold, then you add some dandelions and three hummingbird feathers.'
'And then what?' the wizard asked impatiently.
'Then you stir the mixture and, after an hour, your paragraph will have become beautiful poetry.'
The poet went on his way and the wizard did as he had been told. The thing is, apart from not being good at poetry, he was not very bright.
When he took his parchment out of the pot and saw it was still prose, he got furious.
He ran after the poet and confronted him.
'You tricked me,' he said, out of breath.
'It was just a joke.'
'Nobody laughs at me.'
He took a twisted magic wand out of the pocket of his robe and pointed it at the poet.
'What are you doing?'
'I'm going to strip you of your magic ability to braid words into music and I'm going to keep it for myself,' he said in a rare burst of eloquence.
'You can't do that,' the poet told him.
He thought if somebody stole his poetry, he would die.
But the wizard ignored him and sang an incantation in a weird language with no vowels.
The poet sat on the ground and cried and the wizard went back home without saying goodbye or sorry.
When he got to his hut, he started writing a poem, but it was as bad as the ones he'd always written.
In the meantime, deep in the forest, the poet was thinking in verse.
The wizard hadn't realized that to separate a poet from his silver words, you have to kill him and steal his soul. Because poetry and poet are so tightly bound, nothing can tear them apart.
One day, a traveling poet went past his hut, and the wizard asked him question after question about his job.
'And how do you turn prose into poetry?' he wanted to know.
The poet, who couldn't help being mischievous, told him, 'Well, first you put your paragraph inside a pot of liquid gold, then you add some dandelions and three hummingbird feathers.'
'And then what?' the wizard asked impatiently.
'Then you stir the mixture and, after an hour, your paragraph will have become beautiful poetry.'
The poet went on his way and the wizard did as he had been told. The thing is, apart from not being good at poetry, he was not very bright.
When he took his parchment out of the pot and saw it was still prose, he got furious.
He ran after the poet and confronted him.
'You tricked me,' he said, out of breath.
'It was just a joke.'
'Nobody laughs at me.'
He took a twisted magic wand out of the pocket of his robe and pointed it at the poet.
'What are you doing?'
'I'm going to strip you of your magic ability to braid words into music and I'm going to keep it for myself,' he said in a rare burst of eloquence.
'You can't do that,' the poet told him.
He thought if somebody stole his poetry, he would die.
But the wizard ignored him and sang an incantation in a weird language with no vowels.
The poet sat on the ground and cried and the wizard went back home without saying goodbye or sorry.
When he got to his hut, he started writing a poem, but it was as bad as the ones he'd always written.
In the meantime, deep in the forest, the poet was thinking in verse.
The wizard hadn't realized that to separate a poet from his silver words, you have to kill him and steal his soul. Because poetry and poet are so tightly bound, nothing can tear them apart.
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