In the town of Forgotten
One might always forget
But our story unfolds surrounding King Hatchet
He was an evil and determined king
King Hatchet would often have thoughts being the one thing
“I am the King to whom you must respect otherwise, a very high torture sting”
The citizens of Forgotten weren’t surprised of the King’s words
The message echoed out, and it was heard?
But who would defy the king?
It was a man named Defender
He called out King Hatchet to come outside the castle
Now anybody who challenges the King is automatically put to death
But Defender was a skilled warrior, and reigned as a champion
However, King Hatchet knows all about Defender, but doesn’t care how skillful Defender is
But let the challenge begin
It will be death to the finish
Whoever is the victory will be distinguished
So King Hatchet and Defender picked up swords and commenced in the fight
There were cheers on both sides being sheer delight
Swords grasped together, and when Defender pierced the arm of king Hatchet, there a scar and some blood
Yet, it didn’t cause the blood the pour like a flood
However Defender was steadily swinging his sword in not missing a beat
It was determination in there not be a defeat
Suddenly King Hatchet felt to the ground, and Defender had his sword at King Hatchet’s throat
The message, “Defender was the greatest swordsmen throughout Forgotten”
But Defender let King Hatchet live, but only after announcing, “Defender had won”
Cheers from the crowd’s
The hourglass of victory
A chapter that prior could have been considered a mystery
Once upon a time, storyline far more than any book could ever tell
A moment in making a child’s heart’s swell
The closing chapter ended with dreams into the night
But for now good night, sleep tight, and don’t forget to turn off the light.

by Gary Snyder**

One afternoon the last week in April
Showing Kai how to throw a hatchet
One-half turn and it sticks in a stump.
He recalls the hatchet-head
Without a handle, in the shop
And go gets it, and wants it for his own.
A broken-off axe handle behind the door
Is long enough for a hatchet,
We cut it to length and take it
With the hatchet head
And working hatchet, to the wood block.
There I begin to shape the old handle
With the hatchet, and the phrase
First learned from Ezra Pound
Rings in my ears!
"When making an axe handle
            the pattern is not far off."
And I say this to Kai
"Look: We'll shape the handle
By checking the handle
Of the axe we cut with–"
And he sees. And I hear it again:
It's in Lu Ji's Wen Fu, fourth century
A.D. "Essay on Literature"–in the
Preface: "In making the handle
Of an axe
By cutting wood with an axe
The model is indeed near at hand."
My teacher Shih-hsiang Chen
Translated that and taught it years ago
And I see: Pound was an axe,
Chen was an axe, I am an axe
And my son a handle, soon
To be shaping again, model
And tool, craft of culture,
How we go on.

At first,
Words were literal.
Hearts were broken,
I mean literal.

You were a brother,
Never meant to get mixed up.
Between a million lies,
We got mixed up.

They see you as a child,
Yet I see more.
I wanted to see the rage
You had stored.

Like a tornado,
Things got out of control.
Like a crescendo,
The damage took it's toll.

See,

I want to show you worlds,
Universes,
Where imagination is real.
Hours are but golden candles,
On a cherrywood wheel.

But we lost our faces,
And fingers were pointed.
Caught in mazes,
We were the unholy anointed.

My apology.
I write it in blood.
My reasoning?
Was a broken love.

A bond,
Shattered by blind hate
Until even holy water became taint.

What happened between us and Her,
That's old.
A hatchet lost forever,
Shattered in the cold.

We were labeled,
Yet I don't see you as a child.
With skills like yours,
It was fun to be wild.

You called out names,
Of course we obliged.
Naturally with these games,
We piled the fire high.

But,

Perspective was lost.
Or was it?
I don't care.
Bury the hatchet, Arcassin.
Lets clear the air.