Fakiru Week Day 3: Tie
Inscribe into the Oaken Tree
A tale of One, Two, Three:
One – tied to a debt most painful,
Two – tied to each other, faithful,
Three – tied to a Fate resentful.
Then recite of Four, Five, Six:
Four – tied to a kingdom hollow,
Five – doomed a frail love to follow,
Six – tied to a father cruel, in his hand a bag of tricks.
And seven is the Truth unseen.
What you see cannot be seen.
What you hear makes no sound.
You must hear what mute remains.
You must see what stubbornly its mask maintains.
The lovers true make their way ahead,
On their journey.
Upon one neck a jewel red,
Upon the other the gem is water clear.
Two halves, a whole.
Two fates entwined.
Upright should they remain – trials overcome.
On their heads, astray – foolish designs, tragedy.
One.
The man who should have died,
For his Moira a token he had found.
Clotho maintains a sacrifice profound,
A single duck in the webs it spins it had bound,
For no sin truly her own, save too soft a heart
– condemned and tried.
The duck herself a foolish sort,
Willingly to the Spinner she had went,
A soul who once kind to her had been,
To save, rekindle, and court.
But tied to him she could not remain,
So upon herself his freedom lost
She had taken.
Still truly free he had not become,
Only desolate and remorseful.
Alas, in learning of this she – both!, would be delayed –
Betrayed!
A duck’s sacrifice in vain, kindness for kindness too great a cost.
Four.
A man who should have died,
A storyteller he had been,
Of fae, brave heroes, but foes in fall belated,
His stories he had spun.
A Prince he had envisioned,
Noble, kind, courageous;
In a plot the Spinner trapped him,
Vicious and disadvantageous!
“Heartless become thee!”, he commanded,
“Or as your foil and proxy, one other you must offer!”
A paradox, a paradigm most backhanded!
The Prince chose his heart to fragment and scatter,
(For what other choice truly had he,)
Before his plan was soiled –
A duck with too soft a heart,
His place to take the words had uttered.
The Prince’s blood and hers,
The blooming jewel of cruor formed,
Only by another lover true, could the curse
Be broken!
Three.
One lost boy was saved,
Upon his shoulders a world’s weight.
A lone withdrawn creator,
Of destinies imagined,
Of fae, brave heroes, and foes abated.
“Write!” he said, “for me a tale,
“To lead me from this town.
“Oh the stars, the moon, and Death itself,
“Guide mine path far, far the hills down!”
In doing so the Moirai he had challenged,
His Fate to the stars, the moon and Death he had tied!
His blood shared with an undead evil,
The scales for him in equal tip
To happiness,
To glory.
He must hear what mute remains.
He must see what stubbornly its mask maintains.
Seek he must, what buried is,
In the bog of Truth.
Seven.
Before the very eyes
Of the creator still unripe,
The shy little Truth gives chase –
For the Truth is lonesome,
And when not sought, its cries
wake the Moirai.
His lover to a waterfowl’s guise is reduced
As he watches awestruck;
Before fully she would change forms,
Urge him she does, with some luck:
“Seek a kingdom hollow!
“Seek a lover frail!
“Inscribed into the Oak Tree,
“Track the Tale of One, Two, Three!”
One – tied to a debt most painful,
Two – tied to each other, faithful,
Three – tied to a Fate resentful.
Then recite of Four, Five, Six:
Four – tied to a kingdom hollow,
Five – doomed a frail love to follow,
Six – tied to a father cruel, in his hand a bag of tricks.
And seven is the Truth unseen.
To him who accepts all, happiness.
To him who defies all, glory.
**
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