Copyright 1988, S Hartwell

A thousand messages are etched on the walls,
Cryptic or sacred but prophecies all;
Obscure predictions in great dusty tomes,
Filed in great cases, ranked in locked rooms,
But somebody keeps these things behind locked doors,
Frightened to see them, afraid to learn more.

Visionariesí wisdom and visions of seers,
Ancient with memory and heavy with years,
In writings so ancient our future foretold,
Unravelling with time as the ages unfold.
Forgotten promises? Incomplete vows?
No-one can read them, nobody knows.

Prophets who saw into ages unborn,
Who wrote down their visions trying to warn,
Their talents lie wasted, their writings unseen,
Because the keepers fear what they mean.
All lead to destruction, dismay and decay,
With no-one to read what the messages say.

Incomplete messages scream from the walls,
Predictions and prophecies bitter as gall,
Obscurely worded, cryptically phrased,
Half-expressed visions eroded with age.
The only warnings not hid from menís eyes,
Are indecipherable in their cryptic disguise.


Copyright 1988, S Hartwell

I am the jester, I juggle and tumble,
Fed scraps by the King for acting the fool,
I joke and make music for his entertainment,
For the fool knows nothing and yet knows all.

My japes and my antics have meanings encoded,
For the King is dull-witted in matters of state,
So I write his script, unacknowledged advise him,
I pull the strings of the Royal Marionette.


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