A small but quiet little village did exist

At the foot of the majestic mountains

Inhabitants warned not to climb its peak

Or listen to the words of its lethal lyricist

A warning passed down throughout the age

From mother to daughter, father to son

For history told of the most terrible deeds

“From the words of men” declared the sage

Beware the bard of the mountain mist

For he has traded his odes with the devil

Now the sweetest words from mouth or quill

Are far more deadly than a giant’s fist

Words that surely live and breathe

Words that think as well as any man

Searching out that which is wanted most

So beautiful they sing and still they seethe

Songs that steal a maiden’s eager heart

With such rare beauty to a fervent ear

Then they are spat in an anger oft’ unseen

Ferocious intent, though extremely smart

The legend grew and the fear remained

As good a protector as ever there was

For all the villagers thought as if one

And from climbing the mountains refrained

Yet the fairer inhabitants of the tiny hamlet

Were one day taken by his songs of lust

Enticed to follow him up the mount

Unable to escape his magical couplet

He’d come for them, not able to wait

After generations had ignored the passage

A stunning journey leading to certain death

When aching hearts heard his alluring bait

Knowing to their deaths they walked

They followed, desperately wanting more

His words touching their hearts and needs

As their innermost secret desires he stalked

As though in a dream they had travelled

Then brusquely awoken within a rocky cell

Almost aware yet under a blissful charm

Happy to soar as their world unravelled

A mountainous haze filled the room

As his words clung to the ceiling

Watching and waiting as if they knew

Which heart to strike and fill with doom

Each a lover of sonnet and versifier

To which the tales would all ring true

As they merrily combined the talents

Of the singing bard and the fortifier

Then realisation came upon them clear

The end was nigh, death would occur

Still his words they could not escape

Wishing to kill him, yet hold him near

A creature so indisputably satyric

Was the bard of the mountain mist

That each target wished upon themselves

To be the writer of his panegyric

Slowly his words took total control

And commanded his victim’s brains and being

‘Til eventually he had the final treasure

And was the owner of each and every soul

The mist engulfed them one by one

No trace was found but a lonely song

Floating on the mists of better days

When mists would clear to greet the sun

© Bernard J Rossi