Shackles of Gold...

The room was dark as the night,
Darker men drank within.
A sweet song set the room abright,
So sweet it seemed as sin.

Silence stood humbled and ashamed,
As he sang in his mellow pitch.
Knights and lords in the room stood tamed,
Not a muscle did they twitch.

Sweet serenade embraced the silence,
In a slow crescendo the song did die.
Fiddlers four they rest their violins,
Rested the pipers five.

For a moment time stood still,
Breaths in the room were bated.
Down theirs spines shivered a chill,
The lull in the hall abated.

The crowed drizzled a mild applause,
and went back to its seat.
Voices began to fill the house,
But one man still stood his feet.

He was big black bearded and bald
and he stood beside the ornate wall.
"Come here" his voice had called,
His baritone filled the hall.


The singer eyed across the hall,
searched for the booming voice.
He saw the man whose voice did call,
Now he knew he had no choice.

The man was dressed in red and gold,
By his waist, hung a crafted sword.
The singer bent his knees and bowed,
And said, "Yes , Milord".

The man spoke with no prologue,
with an air that was fine and rich.
"I have been shackled by your song,
I am the Grand duke of Grimwich".

"It was indeed a great pleasure",
The singer said with a bow.
"My joy for now knows no measure,
Milord, I’m glad to know".

"Your carriage waits", the man said.
"In my court hence you shall be".
"Grimwich will welcome you with carpets in red,
Pride and fame beckons thee"

The singers face shone like gold,
Like the gold he shall receive.
"Milord, its an honor" he told,
"Forthwith, I shall leave".

"Cheer the day" the duke had told,
"Let us dance drink and dine".
He handed the singer a goblet of gold,
Brimmed with sweet red wine.

Before the cup and lip did meet,
There erupted a laughter raucous.
Not a titter so gay and sweet,
The brute's sneer was vicious.

Like a windy gust, stirs up the dust,
His words were sharp and fine.
"Raise your glass if you must,
But there is poison in your wine".

The Duke here with rage grew red,
"Dare you say such a word".
"On the floor shall roll your head",
His hand he gripped his sword

All heads in the hall did turn,
To see this drunken brute.
Their glances were cold and stern,
Dare the duke he disrepute.

The glow on the singers face did fade,
As the duke he drew his sword.
"Pardon him for my sake" he said,
"I beg of thee milord".

The duke he put his sword to sheath,
But his anger had not die.
He spat the words through gritted teeth,
"Why did you say such a lie"?

"In the court of Darkmoor", the drunk uttered,
"Was a painter grand and great.
Four bags of gold he was offered,
To make the king's portrait".

"Stop it now" the duke told the bum,
"Or I shall whip your hide in prison".
The bum resumed with unfazed calm,
"Pride is viler than poison".

"When she was done, she shone like the sun,
She hung at the courtroom hall.
Commanding awe from everyone,
The king deared her than else all.

The duke's calm grew thin with time
"Aaah" in wrath he cried
The brute ensnared him with his eye
The duke at once complied

The king, one day saw a thing so strange
In her, he had never seen
His pale white face reddened with rage
His blue eyes, in her, were green

The king took him to court and asked him "Why?"
"Why are her eyes so green"
He replied " It s not just the color of your eye"
"Green eyes are what I have seen"


The king said "I dont get your verses witty"
"What was it that you have seen"
He replied "Other man's wives are ever so pretty
"Oh, I see your eyes are green"

The king threw him in prison and called him liar
had him whipped till he was numb
The king in ire set her on fire
and cut his right hand thumb.

The painter could not weep or cry
He know not what made him so cold
was it to watch her burn and die
was it the brush he could not hold

Left with no reason to be alive
He wished death would knock at his door
But one wish, made him survive
If only he could make one more

The singer now he saw the light
He said "I have to make a choice
shackles of gold or wings of flight";
"The skies await my voice."

The duke gripped his blade in wrath
"Dare you do me such disgrace
Brace yourselves to meet your death
My anger you shall face".

In the eye of the storm the brute stood calm
He walked with a rude swagger
He said "You shant do no harm".
His left hand held his dagger

The rogue fend the singer with his right.
"Run my friend, have no fright,
spread your wings and take flight
for your freedom this brute shall fight".

Like a drop of venom in wine does spread,
shock spread through the hall.
Dames in the room, shut eyes in dread,
Death had cast its pall.

The brute he fought with a blazing zeal,
but till the singer left the hall.
Sparks flew as steel hit steel,
he smiled, as his head did fall.

Eyes in bloody horror stared wide,
as though turned to stone.
On a galloping horse a man did ride,
To lands still unknown.

Miles away in time and space,
Songs sweet are still heard.
Thier mild melancholies revere and grace,
Some silly and old drunkard.