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847 · Feb 2011
The Traveler
Tom Lynch Feb 2011
The traveler swayed from side to side
His bounty slung heavy on his shoulder
His shadow long and eastward strewn
An ambiguous gait and pallor

His toes dragging to a straight-legged stomp
His head heavy in thought and thirst
He uncaps his flask to wet his mouth
Almost falling to the ground face first

His journey is long and his pace is quick
For a while he rests on a stone
He sets down his bag of merchandise
Unaware he’s no longer alone

A rustle in the bushes alerts his attention
He stiffens and draws his blade
An attack from the forest—a black hooded rogue
A battle for his life is waged

He dodges an arrow and avoids a knife
He lunges with his faithful steel
Slicing through air he draws first blood
And snickers with a menacing leer

A powerful kick sends him back
This carnage will end in the mud
A thunderous jump—ribs snap in their cage
Gasping through grimace and blood

His pace was quick but not quick enough
To escape from his earthly fate
For smite rained down like heaven’s hammer
And punished his life of hate

This ambush was long ago forecast
When his soul morphed into black
At first only slightly but then almost nightly
As he engorged his poisoned sack

Madness enveloped his meager soul
And gnarled evil on his face
The trophies he stole in a heap of haste
Stirred dangerous men to give chase

Now he gasped through spit and blood
Finally paying his overdue arrears
Falling from his clasp to the ground in a mess
Were hundreds of severed ears

— The End —