(Pssst…In case you missed the first part, you can start from HERE.)
By Robert L. Jones III (check it out at Pneumythology)
V. The Prophet’s Home
Far up the coast, a cottage stood, white-walled beneath the sun,
And though the boy did not know why, he broke into a run.
Some hidden force had drawn him forth and drew him faster still.
He moved by sense of atmosphere as children often will.
He slowed his pace once he approached that house along the shore,
Stopped, then, proceeding cautiously, peered through the open door.
This place was curious, he thought, to see the sum of it,
A dwelling marked by common things, but some things didn’t fit.
A garden uphill from the surf provided meager fare,
And flocks of sea gulls combed the rocks and drifted in the air.
The domicile had hearth and bed but neither trough nor stall,
Nor any horse for miles around, yet saddles on the wall.
Beside the hearth, an old man sat, his eyes reflecting flame,
And since the boy had stared awhile, looked up and did the same.
A studied look was on his brow. In thought, he stroked his beard.
At length, when he addressed his guest, his countenance was cheered.
“Please state your name. Your face is strange. Your look I think I know.”
“My name is Galen,” he replied. “I know not where to go
Or what to do. Since days ago, my heart with grief is torn,
An empty ache within my chest, not felt since I was born.
“My eyes still redden with the tears, distraught by what they saw.”
He next relayed the incident in trembling and in awe.
The old man listened carefully, then once the lad was through,
He nodded contemplatively and smiled as if he knew.
“I lead a life of solitude. I wait on man and God,
Complaining not and wanting not, nor should I find it odd
That, of the great men of the earth, a lad should come to me.
Come in. Find solace by my fire, and learn the prophecy.
“This curse from undersea proves such a complicated test.
A simple and courageous mind will learn to solve it best.
With love denied, yet naught to lose, and fierceness in his heart,
A boy will grow into a man to learn the sacred art.
“All tangled problems must trace back through branches to their source.
Their tentacles join but one head. There concentrate your force.
Then morbid love revives again beneath the warming sun.
Make strong your arms, and count the cost to be the chosen one.
“Tomorrow, homeward make your way. Obey your father’s will.
Despise no task. Explore each path that finds your feet until
You come to me by his own leave with arms and pockets full
That I might try the character abiding in your skull.”