The Sorcerer's Apprentice

By: David Taffi | Sun, Oct 30, 2005
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Upon a high rock, a lighted castle so grand,
   whose powers no one dare to withstand?

Flickering lights from the dungeon emit with a flash,
   ever so ready to stop any crash.

A sorcerer feeds a monster 'til dark noon,
   the villagers below sense an impending doom!

More credit, more credit! Expand, expand!
   I will soon unleash you to consume the land!

Devour, devour! And take by stealth, what could otherwise be known,
   or otherwise be felt!

The lords of the castle, provisions much lower,
   send forth the vampires to extract some more and over!

The castle lords release the ghouls and goblins of the night,
   to bring forth what's due, to tax the peasants with delight!

The villagers, so helpless, a silver stake missing,
   how will we kill this beast so unforgiving?

A slimy black creature hides in the bogs,
   withholding his power, knowing how to stop all working cogs!

Darkness creeps forth with evenings' long sun past due,
   O'hallows eve visits the people, no where to run, no way to make do!

A fitful sleep awaits this long journey into fright,
   what other horrors wait beyond bolted door, to curse such a night?

The werewolves are howling, the people listen in fear,
   a moonless, hallows eve, no light for a broken mirror.

The villagers lay awake; it's the middle of the night;
   the howlings grow nearer, the monsters screech with cruel spite!

A howling more fierce to our utter dismay,
   none however strong can keep it at bay!

A monster's ball for all who choose to see,
   where to find a new knight, the beasts he will not appease?

An old sorcerer grows weary, having done all in his might,
   to keep the castle light's burning, villager's hovels priced out of sight!

An apprentice waits yonder, in ye fair tower of ivory;
   come hither quickly, no time to tarry.

Do not so much dither; there is much work in the fight,
   to subdue all creatures that dare to slither deep in the night!

The monsters have gathered, your Grand Wizards Book in hand,
   what will you do if they refuse your commands?

You will scream, you will screech, you will cajole aplenty; you hope to avail?
   But the monsters do not respect one who has not yet prevailed.

A sorcerer's apprentice will take over the tiller,
   but power now resides beyond, to a more productive miller!

A witch from the East works at a cauldron; incantations spoken,
   to send forth a mist, a poisonous fog, cheap peddler tokens.

Lower wages, layoffs, pensions no more! Deflate! Deflate!
   A chorus of screeching demons spate for those who labor and create.

The witch of the East, residing in her growing tall tower,
   knowing her book is a match for the former power.

The cauldrons fog grows denser as it goes forth, a grim reaper knocks?
   A villager emerges, willing to walk a few short blocks.

The villager says, "What further harm this knowledge can bring, I pray?
   I will go with this reaper to learn of my future dismay!"

To the graveyard I'm brought, to a fresh headstone I must gaze,
   to see what waits in those tearful days.

"RIP to those of the middle!"
   The castle lords sleep; when awake they merely continue to fiddle!

A class that once played such a great lasting role,
   has finally been brought low, shredded and torn apart, its head on a roll!

The apprentice returns to his parlor bewildered, pipe and books near at hand,
   to practice the formulae that now seem so bland.

But alas, the monsters hear the voice of a new piper;
   an apprentice so novice cannot hold sway over such a brood of viper!

The cauldron's fog carries new power and prowess,
   for now she keeps the night monsters' menace;
      to tame their howling, in our vain hope they will growl' less.


Author: David Taffi

David J. Taffi, MBA

Copyright © 2005-2006 David J. Taffi

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