Word Slinger

The castle walls are too thick today. I don’t have the words to hurl against its stone ramparts. What I’ve launched has bounced off and fallen into the moat.  The troops are restless and have dug in for a siege. I fear it’s a lost cause however.

I’m in my tent on the battlefield, staring at the blank maps, trying to come up with a plan of attack. I’m running low on ammunition and I need inspiration. There’s no ink in my quills and no structure to my thoughts.  I’m stuck thinking about that rider on the white horse.

She said her name was Thursday and she rode into our camp just at the break of dawn. She was dressed in a long white gown, with her shoulders exposed to the early morning dew. Her dress was damp and lightly sticking to her frame as she dismounted and walked confidently into my command. The sheerness of her gown betrayed a figure worthy of Olympus and my eyes were teary with desire.

It was my own fault for trusting her. My own fault for being so willing to fall for her wiles; she had her hand on my heart and she held my head as I wept and sobbed into her gentle shushing embrace.  I told her I had let the men down. I told her I had nothing left to give.

She lifted my head and I looked into her hazel, glowing eyes. She told me I was right. It was a lost cause; this battle would not be won today. But she added, it is only one battle, the war is long. She was quick with her work and with a few delicate smiles and gentle touch; she took all of our good words and then left us in a rut. She packed them onto her white steed and rode off into the morning mist. I stood at the edge of my tent, watching her ride off with everything strong and steely I thought I had to say.

So now I sling empty words at a wall I cannot hope to conquer. But I’ll dig in and fight on, for this battle is lost but I’ll win the war.