CANDLES, TORCHES AND FIREBRANDS
By John Herlihy

1
The hiss and roar of the torches,
Played havoc above the great hall’s din,
The fire of the dried bark sure to cause scorches,
On every man, woman, child and their next of kin.
The court drained their drinking horns some contest to win;
Idlers gazed drunkenly from balconies into the king’s hall within.

The colors of heavy drapery mingled in ruffled folds;
Candles sputtered in the darkness flickering meager light.
The simplicity of the candles humbled the rage of the torches so bold,
A wild blaze in the fireplace attempted to ward off the incredible cold.
The chandeliers sparkled like diamonds creating an incredible sight.
The moment was destined in future years to mark this glorious night,
With an unexpected insight that would give everyone in the hall a fright.

The torches in the king’s hall guttered, then flared.
From a gust of wind blown in by the Aeolian bellows;
But the wax candle burned brightly as though locked in a stare.
With a message colored by the flame’s golden yellow.
That will stir the hardened hearts of each individual fellow,
Softening them like creamy butter and turning them mellow.
Firebrands lit up the stone walls casting dancing shadows on the ground,
Courtiers could hardly see each other with confusion all around.

2
The king stared into the distance, his face a patchwork of troubles laden;
Stretched thin as fine parchment, telltale lines from stress and strife.
Through the crowd of onlookers marched an innocent maiden,
Carrying a tray for the king, while her face resembled a seer.
No one in the crowd could fathom from whence she had come,
Most of them thinking she had emerged from a neighborhood slum.
Courageously, she came forward, from one eye fell a solitary tear,
A tear that would swallow an ocean if one came anywhere near.

The king rose from his gilded throne, a fine fury to behold.
Gazing upon the child, he held back from venting his rage,
When he beheld the simple smile of this engaging court page,
Who said with a tongue that seemed seasoned with sage:
“Everyone must accept their destiny, earned by being bold.
What makes you different, your own soul you have sold,
To fill your private treasure chests with riches untold.”

The king looked down with contempt on the silver tray,
As though he hadn’t heard a word the child had to say.
Perhaps he expected more tribute reckoned as just pay,
In keeping with his inflated sense of regal majesty.
He had not yet seen what for him the maiden had in store;
The sweat of outrage smothered the breath from his every pore.
The king said: “What does a mere imp such as you have to offer,
That could put the treasures of the world deep into my coffer?”

3
The question hung in the air unanswered like a trader’s bluff;
The king paced the throne room waiting for an answer in a huff.
The kingdom was his command, except for his capacity to see wrong,
Nor could he withstand the pressures of the babbling throng.
Thereupon, the unassuming child lifted the tray’s covered lid,
Revealing a thimble-full of broken walnut shells previously hid.
Containing a symbol with the power to expose the king’s blame;
She was hoping to awaken him with genuine feelings of shame.

With the contents revealed, the entire court uttered a sigh.
The king could only utter a whimper as a feeble reply,
As though the child had touched his heart with a magic wand.
Without further ado, the king realized the misfortune now at hand
That for justice and truth, every individual must take a stand.
Pitiless killing, treachery and perfidy will only scorch the land,
Leaving the former king nothing but a broken shell,
Like the shells scattered on the tray before him and useless as well,
Now knowing he was destined to eternally suffer the fires of hell.

4
The child stepped slowly forward, like an angel with wings,
As though nothing could stop her, it was in the nature of things.
In a strong voice that echoed across the great hall’s beams and rafters
And whose resonance shook the resolve of the court now in tatters.

“Here is the image of your destiny on a silver platter.
Your eyes narrow down as if questioning the matter.
My noble sire, your life is nothing but a broken shell,
Drained of its inner contents, you have shattered life’s magic spell.
Wise men tell us it is not difficult to walk a clear path,
Just accept the Universal Mystery created on everyone’s behalf;
Nurture the personal mystery deep within your heart.
It is not the dried wrinkles of the shell in tatters,
But the core, the heart and the spirit of the shell that matters
The mirror of the world and all its beauty in pieces to shatter.”

5
Having made her remarks, the innocent waif turned on her heels,
The candle flame departed the great hall now reduced to shadows.
Some of those present later recalled they heard organ peals.
The message of the maiden pierced everyone in the hall to the core,
Making them realize their lives had the appearance of a forlorn whore.
Who can say if the words induced in the crowd a feeling of sorrow?
All would wake in fear and trembling on the breath of the morrow,
In remembrance of the little girl who entered the court with bravado
And challenged a mighty king with the flair of a desperado.