A village known to none except the ones who call it home

where humble yeoman farmers live in peace and seldom roam

even here, away from news about the world around

often can the stories of adventure still be found

Children who had only known a life upon the farm

strangers to a single thing that meant to do them harm

every single one had swung a shovel as a sword

taking part in all the tales of magic they adored

In the end the child would leave behind what they had dreamed

learning that their life was more rewarding than it seemed

family and friends would tell these stories to the young

happy with their humble lives when every song was sung

This was true for all who lived this life except for one

there was a certain family who had a certain son

while his friends and brothers grew to love the lives they had

every moment of his peaceful life just made him sad

His home was always warm and he was never there alone

the fire was always warm within a humble hearth of stone

by the hearth he sometimes sat for hours to watch the flame

dreaming of the day he’d earn a righteous hero’s fame

The flickering of sparks and flames gave him a little peace

he saw within the flames a battle raging without cease

working in the quiet fields his little heart would ache

he was suited more for work where there were lives at stake

He wondered if a castle waited in a foreign land

but he could not defend it with the shovel in his hand

he dreamt of suits of armour while he wallowed in the dirt

cursing that he wore instead a muddy, woolen shirt

Stories were the common entertainment in a town

told to keep their spirits up or calm their children down

children always laughed and cheered when fairy tales were told

tales enjoyed by every living person young and old

But one boy brought those stories home and never let them go

everywhere he worked or played his tales would overflow

his family soon tired of how his stories wouldn’t end

they wondered if his broken view of life would ever mend

As he grew his brothers didn’t understand his pain

they hoped he’d change his mind as any child who would complain

but as the seasons came and went his passion only grew

his conversations always turned to stories that he knew

He made his father angry, and he made his mother sad

how could a child with everything curse everything he had

how could a simple story of adventure told for fun

so distort the heart and mind of such a gentle son

“Can’t you see, you’re everything you need to be and more

when you sleep, why is it that you only dream of war

every day, there’s meaning in the life we’re living here

would you rather choose a fate of suffering, pain, and fear”

“Son of mine, please be a hero here where you belong

the magic that you seek is only ever found in song

and if you need to hear a song about the things you’ve done

we can sit around the fire tonight and write you one”

Winters came and went, and each felt longer than the last

the young boy felt as though a hundred years of work had passed

he swore that he could feel the magic carried by the breeze

and listened to the voices calling to him through the trees

Autumn in the small town where the boy had spent his years

was celebrated happily by family and peers

a small town filled with joy and song as amber currents flowed

but while they danced, a single boy looked sadly down road

“Little one, you’ll find enough adventure in this glass

silly boy, just sing with us and let your sorrows pass

you’ll come to find your answers to the questions of your life

are one day having for yourself a job, a drink, and wife”

Often he would run toward the outskirts of the town

singing by himself until his heart could settle down

he’d look out at the forest and saw monsters in the trees

giants, orcs, or demons, he could slay them all with ease

With sword in hand he chased the monsters, but he found no foes

his greatest battle ended when he tripped and broke his nose

everywhere he went reminded him that he was stuck

the worst foe he encountered was a fairly angry duck

His brothers and his sisters couldn’t mock his efforts though

swinging sticks around at some imaginary foe

the dreams he saw all day would turn to nightmares when he slept

they pitied him, but his was not a dream they could accept

A single path connected every home in one long line

and maybe to another town much farther back in time

so one day when a traveller came walking down the road

the boy was sure this was the revelation he was owed

The village wasn’t all too shaken by its sudden guest

the elders asked for tales of towns they knew of to the west

his stories filled the village up with curiosity

when he performed some magic, children shouted joyfully

He entertained with stories of the battles he had seen

of monsters, fae, and dragons, in the places he had been

the traveller was young but full of fairy tales and song

for one young boy it seemed as though a savior came along

To save him from the comfort of his humble family

to pluck him from a boring world and help to set him free

the traveller declined to let the young boy tag along

but the boy was stubborn and he’d follow before long

“Boy, of all the people that I’ve met along the way

kings and beggars, warriors and children out to play

truly now I say I’ve seen none luckier than you

keep your dreams, but it would be a shame if they came true”

The traveller enjoyed his stay but soon he ventured on

the boy was broken hearted when he learned his friend had gone

but while they may not meet again, the boy had been inspired

their meeting was the greatest motivation he’d acquired

He’d never heard a story told by someone who’d been there

his stories of adventure were a kind beyond compare

even though the traveller had left the boy behind

he left him with a stream of stories flowing through his mind

Winter settled in and while the restless boy had packed

his journey would provide him soon, with anything he lacked

so after one long day of work, his family in bed

he looked around his home and thought of what might lie ahead

A fire slowly dying in the hearth beneath a pot

shone a little light upon the grave where he would rot

a single room of nothing more than wood and stone and straw

and rusty tools all made for prideless work were all he saw

And so he tied his blanket to his shoulders for a cloak

and crept away into the dark before his parents woke

the little knife tucked in his belt would keep him safe from harm

and if his strength should fail him he’d rely upon his charm

“I’ll walk the hero’s path alone and look ahead with pride

and soon I’ll be a hero celebrated far and wide

the next time that my family hears mention of my name

it may just be in songs about my power and my fame”

~