The Merchant

Poem — Part 1

A merchant I once did come about
On fruitless tracks of the world’s circuit.
Tired of men and their wares
I slipped the chains of lesser snares,
Longing for reprieve my eye did see
The merchant all calm and unwary.
Him I asked, “What wares are thine,
What craft of skilled hands fine
Do you offer under the azure sky?”,
He replied, “Many fires I ply
Of numerous hues rainbow bright,
But mine fires not palpable to sight
Nor burn by any known fuel,
For these enflame the soul
And not all shall afford the fee
For my fires that eyes cannot see.”
And I, “Oh to what purpose the fire then
That thou doth ply to world of men?”
Replied he, “Knoweth thou the dawn
That peers by bright-faced sun,
Or stars that prop the night’s canvas
Glimmering like god’s million eyes?
Knoweth thou the musing poet
Making new world by mere thought
Or trumpet that heralds the hero
Who wins by his blood a tomorrow?”
I queried, “Some of these familiar,
Yet what relevance these to thy fire?”
He said, “Behind the wings that sweep
And mind that into silence doth leap,
Behind the babe’s cry and lover’s sigh
There is a power hidden to every eye,
In the occult house within heart of all
A secret chamber with luminous pedestal,
There these fires are housed
To fuel all acts by life made.
The sage and clown,
The seer and hero of renown,
Hands that the soil do till
or rock the baby’s cradle,
All are made by fires mine,
Sans it no glory doth remain.”

(To be continued..)

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The Merchant