Poem: Part I: There is Light on the Horizon

Part I

There is light on the horizon

There is beauty all around

But here I stand and shiver

And I quake at every sound

Of ice crackling on the branches

and snow falling to the ground

Was it really worth the danger,

this treasure that I found?

'Round the curve of the mountain

I know that I must go

Through the misty darkness

Tramping in the snow.

The pain in my toes is one thing

But the clench of my heart is fear

The cold on my skin does sting, it does

But I wonder, is the dragon near?

In the valley before me lives a dragon

Of fire and foul breath

Will the crunch of my steps in the snow

Ruin my careful stealth?

Carefully, I place my feet

To descend the slippery slope

This bag of gold is heavy

I'll not fall, I hope

A stone tumbles down before me

And thuds into the snow

I freeze, and squint ahead

Which way should I go?

Did the dragon hear me?

Or will I make it through?

There's nothing to do but step again

So step again I do.

I make it down to the valley

And pause to catch my breath

I've a promise that I must keep

So I stroll to the home of Beth

She's not a' home when I arrive

So I enter in alone

The coins I count from one to five

And place them 'neath her pillow.

She'll know it 'twas me, and know I'm a'right

These strange coins will tell my tale

She'll know I survived, and hiked on past

And drank a mug of her ale.

I stoke up the hearth, and warm my flesh

Until the sting abates

I shoulder my sack once again

Step back upon my trail.

My breath puffs out in the frosty air

misting my way ahead

I walk quieter than I ever have

I've no wish to be dead.

I come to the pond, and see the burned trees

Where travellers failed before.

The dragon is real, then, and here is the proof

It's more than merely lore.

I breathe in deep, but breathe out slow

It's more important than ever, now

Stealth, if I want to live.

Step, breathe. Step, crunch. Pause.

The hill snow was soft,

but the valley's had sun.

The top crackles loud

As my feet beat it down.

Slow going, 'tis,

when you try not to breathe

Your ears listening hard

Every step slow

But never a dragon I heard.

Nor did I hear a bird.

Not a good sign, that.

After an hour, or maybe two

I come to the curve of the hill.

I sigh with relief, and realize

My shoulders ache like hell.

I see a cave there,

A cave that looks warm

Just for a minute

to set down my load

I decide I want to stop.

I need to stop.

It's then that I hear it

The rush-roar of breath

And I know I'm at my end.

I stumble backwards, to find a tree

And I stuff the gold bag in.

I draw my sword

And stumble ahead

The bag must not be found.

But for me, oh I fear

The Reaper's at last come around.

Thank you to Jorinde Brokke for the photo.
Copyright 2016 by Christa Bedwin