An Inn Called See

Now, again, I search for a glance
At the full meaning behind the strong stance
Of the warrior seated opposite me
At an oak table, in an inn called See.

Only three pain-laced words- "We must talk"
Had escaped the lips of this muscle-bound rock.
As we sit down, while I now wait for more,
There stirs great foreboding deep in my core.

Clothed in brown leather that once could stay blade,
There lives in his spirit a tale long delayed.
I sense, by a bard's art, oceans of hurt
Hidden behind that frayed leather shirt.

Much has been learned with a studious glance,
But I wish him to speak it. He must have the chance
To make bright the dark, to open the cage
Once made of his heart in a long- past age.

"You've wandered," he says. "So far from home.
"Yet farther than you, your words have roamed.
"I had much in my land but have walked away.
"I've traveled far to get here today."

The innkeeper, carrying drink and food,
Comes to our table in lighthearted mood.
Perhaps sensing the gravity that our eyes show
He sets the meal down, and silently goes.

Words are pointed.  I want not to speak.
I have no answer; an excuse would feel weak.
With warrior's words he's so boldly spoken,
Wounds' remembrance has burned and awoken.

Wounds that I've given, wounds I took,
Wounds by which all eternity shook.
You, Reader, have your own pain.
Perhaps your struggles have turned to your gain.

Maybe you're glad for what has been done,
But surely you've lost things preciously won.
What would you say?  What would you do
If such words of weight were spoken to you?

They'd reached in and touched a well-weathered heart.
No self-willed strength gave my tongue the start,
But feeling that silence must not win the day
I opened my mouth, and spoke anyway.

"What do you want of me?" My words come out clear.
They are words of a poet; words bought dear.
The words of one who bears soul-stain
That oft leave deep marks, and cause great pain.

I'd once left my family; pain begged me depart.
Wandering tribes took me in, soothed my heart
With words of their own, and acts good and kind.
But a home that I'd sought, ne'er did I find.

From the well of emotion built in that state,
I spoke things that made lovers feel hate.
Other souls, broken, found themselves newly mended
When to their aid my words I'd extended.

The warrior so tense, seated opposite me
Watches my face very carefully.
Somehow my words had reached his home
And now, much like me, he feels he must roam

"Your words, O Bard," he says very slow.
"They changed my whole life, and forced me to go
"Where I thought I could not.  Twas what I feared.
"But by your words my pathway has cleared."

"I know of your kin, I know of their wants.
"Your departure and absence... their memory haunts
"Them, for what has been done to your family.
"Will you go? You are needed. Can't you see?"

The warrior, whose words in my soul seem to sing,
Sees on my face the buried yearning
I have held for so long.  The ache is too great.
I will return before tis too late.

Then feeling kinship with this warrior across
The table, I, feeling what would be a great loss,
Ask, "Will you come with me?" with tears in my eyes.
He looks at me, silent, in great surprise.

A slow smile spreads.  He nods.  We stand.
And so begins a journey unplanned.
Such marvelous tale happened to me
While I sat with the warrior, in
An inn called See.

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