The Weaver | Teen Ink

The Weaver

June 2, 2012
By inkblot13 PLATINUM, Auburn, New York
inkblot13 PLATINUM, Auburn, New York
41 articles 1 photo 160 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If I knew where poems came from, I'd go there"

- Michael Langley, 'Staying Alive'

During the chase, day turned into night.
On the Weaver's horse ran into the woods
daring to think she could lead us astray,
Still and stubbornly we pursued
drawn by a desire to see if the legends were true
The night wore on, the moon waxing, waning, whatever
Orange and bright, it looked like an orange ready to be harvested off a tree
So close, it appeared the moon could be plucked out of the sky.
But never fit into a man’s hand

The howl of the hounds crying out to the moon for answers died down as we rode farther into the labyrinth of wood
We Riders the fabled Minotaur, the Weaver a young girl lured into the trap
I could not see the Weaver, but could hear her horse's pant,
desperate and dying for air,
and hear its hooves kiss the earth for fleeting moments
Then I saw her, the Weaver of Words
The hood of her cloak fell back to reveal a mass of hair the color of a silver moon
Her face was stoic- lips pursed in a straight line and eyes that gave away no glimmer of fear
Why would she stop?
Did she decide to give up?
No, the horse had led its rider to a dead end
And ultimately to a meeting with Death
Pulling out a warrant for arrest with one hand and sword with the other
The Weaver of Words spoke
And I feel into a trance,
“There’s no need for that,
Your king wishes me dead for inspiring a people to remember life before
Capital crime calls for capital punishment,
I completely understand
But you Riders of Night,
Bringing Death along wherever your horses trod don’t seem too
The stories have been burned,
But the hearts and minds of the nation have not
I wrote the stories down and recited them
Kill me,
They’ll remember my words
Burn my work,
They’ll remember my words
For the words have been transposed in their soul
They’ll be passed down to the future
Told by the fireside,
Told by parents as they kiss their children goodnight”

The Weaver appeared to pause,
But those words were to be her last,
For the biggest rule of all was broken
The Weaver showed emotion upon her face
She cracked a smile and the rest of her body followed suit
She crumbled into the dust and floated away on the night wind
Her stallion reared and ran away
Its rider was gone, and wouldn’t return
The Weaver of Words chose to die for and with her words
She was no more

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