The Immortal Poet (short Story)

Once, in a village in ancient Japan, a young boy walked on natures path.
He found that the birds have songs to sing to each other with.
But he also found that the bird sung to him, they're heads turning to him.
He felt moved, he wanted to write they're songs.
But he could not, but he found something much more better.
He found with the words he used to describe the birds melody, it can form a lyric that can move the heart as much as a song.
"The ballad of the avian enchants one whom sits before them.
They sing and they dance,
the holler and whisper.
The avian group goes from murmurs to shrieking in just moments.
They are truly the Divines choir."
Struck by what he wrote, he ran to his village, and worked on it further, describing the birds and they're song.
he went to his busy father, a blacksmith, and he read it to him as he worked, tempering iron.
Once the boy finished, the father had gone to tears.
"I listen to the anvils yelling all my life. And yet my son can give me a idea of what i miss in nature."
So moved, was his father, that he took his son to the elders, they too began to weep as he read.
"We sit here and debate about mindless things, but you have opened our ears to beauty."

And so they boy went on in his village, growing to a man as he wrote of bird.
But they seemed to grow bored of his writings.
In a fury, the boy stormed to nature, and turned his head to the sky.
"The Divine! Hear me! My village has sullied the gift you gave me to share! Let me show all of Japan that i can move minds and hearts with you're words!"
And they man waited...
And waited...
the season passed, he watched the forest fade and grow back.
the elders first passed. Then his father.
The man also grew old.
Finally, he went to his home, and picked up his pen and wrote of his life.

"I have wasted my life in the name of one place.
My father has gone, and in my place? Disgrace.
So i write now, to my grandson, in hopes that you see,
that Japan, out homeland. With my words can succeed.
Take this poem i write below to the prince.
take it yourself, and make sure that it makes its appearance."

And so the old man wrote, and wrote till his heart went dry, and his mind sour.
His happiness, and love, gone...
Into this poem lost in time.
The old man reread it, and cried loudly to wake the house.
But when the grandson came to see what was wrong, he found his Grandfather...
Dead, clutching the paper close to his heart.

His grandson read the paragraph above, and dared not to read below.
Instead, he listened, and wrapped the paper in a fine ribbon and stamped it with wax.
He ran from the household, and up the empires road, running to the prince.
After a year of running, he arrived, toned to a fine body from the running, people caring for him on his way.
He said that the paper can move the prince to find peace with his neighbors, but he must have it read to him, or he will die of the words like his grandfather has, writing it.

And so, after a hour, he stood in court as the servant tore the seal off.
He read aloud, and after a long half-dozen minutes, the poem ended, and the servant feel to his back, dying with tears in his eyes and a smile in his face.
the prince... was unmoved.

"Are those words your own?" The prince said.
'No Mi-Lordship. it was my Grandfather..."

he sat there for a moment, and he dared look at the paper himself.
"Boy... this is truly the most..."
He let a single tear glide down his cheek.
"The most beautiful thing... that i have even read..."

Soon after, they build a tower before his palace, the work altered so not to kill the citizens...
But the work, still true...
The palace and monument are gone due to the fall of his empire, but the story lives on...
Through you.
PoetwithaPen PoetwithaPen
18-21, M
1 Response Dec 8, 2012

Feel free to comment everyone! I don't mind!
Spam, Trolls, and just general smart-***** will be deleted from comments.
I don't mind questions!