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LUCIUS, an artisan

TITUS, his competitor

PRINCE

LABORERS

MOB

Among all the seasons of the Lord’s year,

There is but one that a pilgrim holds dear.

‘Tis he the true heir to the drought of March,

‘Tis he that would save all the ones to parch.

‘Tis April that comes with showers so sweet,

The reason, the why, the pilgrims will meet.

The lands they will travel I know by name,

The reason they travel, their souls to claim.

All of them have a true tale to report,

Of kings and minstrels and all of the sort.

First I shall tell you a few words I wrote,

A portrait so true it came from their throat.

A group that numbers half of thirty-nine,

Their class, their status is more than their spine.

I met the troupe at a tavern in Reims,

To witness St. James, a journey it seems.

The first among them, much more than a squire,

Was a good chief, but fell into the fire.

The second’s the most merry of the men;

He comes with gold bags to give to his kin.

The third is the most noble of them all,

Despite his title which graces no hall.

The fourth is a man of the pious church,

Who lies to himself for his righteous search.

The fifth is no brighter than a young boy;

‘Cause of his parents’ incestuous joy.

The sixth’s as delicate as a flower,

A woman whose looks are more than sour.

The eighth may plea until eternity,

Whose crimes are the worst of modernity.

The ninth is the luckiest of the band,

Except for the war which lost him his hand.

The tenth was quite the over-protector;

His child’s now barely more than a spectre.

The eleventh’s quite less than a peasant,

Whose slavery’s justice’s good present.

The twelfth is mightier than his master,

And as a result shall die much faster.

The thirteenth was told to never be named,

Whose father’s title could not be reclaimed.

The fourteenth is my personal hero;

Who fought the odds until it was zero.

The fifteenth is invisible to men,

Except to the ones who shall live again.

The sixteenth’s a man of a rightful crown,

Until all his foes come to take him down.

The seventeenth has more force than ten kings;

He sneaks about and sets all of the strings.

The eighteenth’s most wise in all his disguise,

His miracles are crimes in the right eyes.

Despite all the men and women who fought,

I shall begin with my very first thought.

Our story begins, a prisoner’s tale,

Whose wisdom has nothing more to unveil.

He fought for his country, all of his life,

But then one night he was caught by the knife.

A struggle was vain for he was amazed,

Alive was he and for that, God he praised.

A captive now for the rest of his days;

The weeks go by and he fights off the craze.

What future one has in captivity,

His record is kept from nativity.

So now without further prolonged delay,

I have now the prisoner’s tale to say.

Of all the weeks of a prisoner’s life,

He’s forced into repetition and strife.

Each day the captives are brought to the door,

By whom are they told “Get down to the floor!”

It is the just king in virtue’s good name.

He says to them all, “To what have you shame?”

The first among them is set to reply,

“My lord, I’ve stolen thine delicious rye!”

The king is calm, and in his honest words,

“My property’s my own! Not for the birds!

You flew off with my things, and that’s no lie.

What have you for yourself? What dost thou buy?”

Weakly, yet intrepid, the man proclaimed,

“My lord, ‘tis true, I have none that I’ve named!”

“Your crime is blatant and for that you pay,

Not in gold, but in eternal decay.

A man’s property’s his right to his past,

The fruit of his toil, and all that has passed.

I say your punishment’s most just indeed,

Now you shall pay for your horrible deed.”

And upon those words he made his depart,

To the next he went, not a foot apart.

The man before him was most vile in fact,

His face was wide and he looked of no tact.

“Look to my eyes, what have you to repent?

I sense one of a most horrible scent!

Now speak to me of your atrocity,

What’s to become of this monstrosity?”

Yet in these words the man was vigorous,

Not bent over to one so rigorous.

“My good king, there is but one crime I’ve claimed,

‘Tis only a few men that I have maimed.

And for this what is to become of me?

A captive forever am I to be?

Oh have you no room for me to forgive?

This is no life for a human to live!”

And thus the king spoke, of what has been said,

“Have you no mercy for all those men dead?

You robbed them of present, no less a thief,

No better than the first, silence your grief!

I say to you that your deeds are unjust;

Here you remain ‘til the bars turn to rust.

My lands are pure and my ruling is stern,

Onto the next, I pray God lets you burn.”

With that he proceeds to the successor,

A man before the regal oppressor.

“Converse with me of the crimes you have made,

If of virtue you speak, fear not the blade.

Now gentle young man, what have you to say?

Are there no misdeeds that find you this day?”

Thus he spoke to his royal advisor,

Of all the things that made him no wiser.

In his possession and captivity,

He held a young maiden in misery.

For months she was slave to a master’s will,

Under a despot who owned the town mill.

For this the king was not to be reserved,

“Young man a punishment you have deserved.

From her you removed her right to future;

Now for you there’s no hope, seam nor suture.

All that you deserve is in that prison,

To see nay again the sun that has risen.

To you the world remains a fantasy;

Eternal doom of monochromasy!

To this I state I am through with your plight,

Now onto the next to show him the light.

He moved with haste to the man in the rear,

A jolly chap with a smile ear to ear.

“Why have you obtained such unjust content?

This prison’s not for one’s joy to be spent!”

The man in the rear said with good spirit,

“What’s a good life with no delight in it?

If you wish to live your days in good cheer,

You must not judging others spend the year.”

“Who are you to preach to me, priest art thou?

Not a pretty chance, respond to me now!”

In true honesty and humility,

The captive responded for all to see,

“Good God in heaven, you are but a fool!

I needn’t respond to one of such rule.

But yet for your sake I shall then proceed,

To show you the error of this bad creed.

Now the fault is in your hypocrisy,

To judge these men that are equal to thee.

Have you not stolen the treasures of hosts,

when you assess them without their due post?

Have you not murdered the men of this land,

When you sent men to die from your right hand?

Have you not enslaved the children of France,

When you took their land without a good chance?

No my lord, I am guilty of no crime,

Not one that I should spend my unpaid time.

You, my sir, are worse than the immoral;

For you there’s none that can exact your quarrel.

No one at least that lives on the green earth,

For you must answer to him of good worth.

The rights of kings don’t exceed their subjects;

Do you see the grounds for why one objects?”

No words could describe the face of the king,

The pain in his neck now like a bee sting.

Three breaths go into the man of the hour,

Before the king may exert his true power.

“Prisoner, I’ve listened to you truly;

I see now why you find me unruly.

Justice is more than a man can proclaim;

Her life remains in the law’s hearty flame.

Could a man pass judgment and it receive?

Who then must wear the just robe to its sleeve?

Wouldst thou both feast thy wheat and store it too?

Listen clearly for what I believe true:

One ought to exchange for one’s sacrifice,

For all in this life must come at a price.

The rights of a king aren’t more than a man;

We all have a place in Justice’s plan.”

Not just any fool can pick up a pen and have their work considered by the many; at least not until today.  With the this new medium known as the internet, any one can have their daily artistic expressions seen and admired by the many.  Is this a good thing or is it bad?  Well, as our standards for what is good and what is not good change, the fundamental value of art does not.  The purpose of art is truth, and now that truth is out there more than ever before.

We cannot avoid the cliché, and we cannot avoid snobism.  It is in our nature to think of ourselves as more valuable than all others, otherwise we would all be dead trying to save the world.  Whether you admit this fact or not, you subconsiously know that you are more valuable than your neighbor.  So why not be pretentious if you know more than your neighbor?  Ignorance is not inherently evil, but the stubborness to remain ignorant is.  

I know that every idea has been thought of once before, and every great idea has been thought of twice before.  Yet, knowing this, I have a lot of pride in my own ideas and accomplishments.  Great men are only great because they did not allow themselves to go unnoticed.  Have pride in yourself, but do not let it consume you.  As with everything in life, seek a delicate balance.  As balance is truly the way to happiness.