The Hilltop
By: Poet (TheLastAutumn)
Dedicated To: To a man of secrets, needed to realize his family is by his hand, taking one step at a time.
As He thought, listening to thy God’s wind, whistling Angels’, warriors’ voices within his untamed ear while sitting on the hilltop: the hilltop of which Seridian’s historic, heroic battles of true love, blackened hate, vile greed, and merciful regret came to thee truth; he had only one word within his fulfilled mind of mystic words and silent voices. He had always thought that one day his father would return home. He had heard legends around a fire, glorious stories from his beautiful mother, his dreams that lead him to believe that the next day, his father would respectfully enter the door to their home, set a fire in the fire path, make some tea with his nobleman harvest abilities, bringing some of the rarest herbs to our home. He had only heard that he’s the leader of the Knight of thy Rose, with thy Cape of the Unbreakable comfortly wrapping his rigid neck of his Mother and Son. His armour had been pierced of lightning and tears. Lightning that arrows hid within, creating a flame within the head of the arrow, where the thoughts, the secrets, the voice develops, but yet this arrow, darkened by fate, desire of the Ring. The blood of the legendary archer had once known this man of the Hilltop, knew him like a brother. Thy desired of this Ring had turned blood into fire, flesh into ash and allegiance of thy loyalty of the twelve. One cleric of truth, guided by the Voice; thy luminescent, glorious, light, four archers of thy Eagle-hawk; a legendary bird born of the fires of Idaloran, two pikeman of thy Spear, thy follow thy Spear of peace, releasing the Doves of Life, three magicians of thy Spell casters hand, one hammerman of mercy, the strength of the world in his soldiers, and one knight of God.
He had held onto only three things that would someday change his life forever, one of a cloak, two of a mystical crown, and three of a letter. His father, sister, and mother had held life’s carriage for far too long and they have been waiting till the day He would rise. He raised, one day, an origin of day, t’was the Day of Giving. After a day of words, at supper, he would run back on the ragged path of Oaks towards his humble home, always thinking, day-dreaming as his mother, pacing himself as his sister, and one breath at a time as his father.
One day his father had taken him to the bridge of which the Crystal River came from the sunset to thy forest of Trees and that it passes through their village and towards thee Keep of Life. While throwing a rock within the river, and hoping to see it freeze within their eyes so that it says that one wish will come true. Without breath, his father had said, “Son, one day I’ll leave you, and you’ll have to make a choice,” his father said as thoughts and visions passed through his eyes looking beyond the glorious land that thee almighty God had given them.
“Father, you’ll never leave me,” he said looking up to him smiling and as the sun silhouetted his father’s face beyond the clouds and as he took his father’s hand and placed it on his father’s heart, “I’ll be in there,” and placed his hand on his own heart and said, “and you’ll be in here,” the son said with all his might.
“Son,” he said as he began to kneel, “you’re heart is ready.”
“Father, what’s going to happen? I’m scared and cold but I don’t know why. Am I going to die? Am I coming up on a fever?”
“Son, listen, there’s something within you, something much more powerful than anything, when I leave you, you’ll have a choice. You’ll find one of truth, love, and goodness, and one of greed, desire, and hate.”
The son said starting to cry, “Father, please don’t leave me. Mother, sister dear, we need you, we can’t live without you.”
“Listen to me … don’t cry, because every tear you’re going to cry from this day forward will cause pain for someone else.”
“But why, father? Tell me why;”
“Because it’s what you’ve chosen.”
“Father, it hurts.”
“I know son, I raised you to be an angel, here, take this,” the father took off his cloak and held it out to his son, “if you take this here, it won’t hurt as much.” The father said starting to cry.
“Please don’t cry,” the son had said reaching his shaking hand towards the royal fired cloak.
“Son, I love you, I always will, one day, we’ll meet again, within my heart you’ll be, and yours I will, as you say.”
“Father …”
“Yes son?”
“I love you too, I understand.”
“When I see you again, where will it be? Because I want to look like you, be you, and live within you everyday.”
“Someday son, someday,” the Father had said getting up and walking his son back to their home before bedtime.
The next day, a war rose, his father, kissing his wife, hugging his daughter and saying good-bye to his son. No tears had been exchanged, and suddenly, the son, had blacked out, and the next day he waken up next to his mother, sister, and father. As if nothing had happened, then that’s where it had happened. An angel had been as the window, giving off light that was blinding, and crystallized. The angel had sung a song; a song that had given the son a name, TheLastAutumn was now born, and his life had only begun. Years, decades had passed and his father had disappeared within the night; a night of which the angel had sung and the light had glown within the sky, giving a path for him to follow. A war followed, TheLastAutumn had been drafted so he grabbed the cloak of the Unbreakable, his crown of life, and the letter, the letter that he wouldn’t read because of his scars.
Twenty years had passed a normal life that he had lived, and someone had guide TheLastAutumn to the bridge with the letter, broken from over the years, shadowed by the war, wearing his father’s mystical cape, and the luminescent rays of the Crown of Life his mother had made for him, his armour had glistened of tears of angels as his golden cross hung low from his neck, as the last sunset was marking a golden, glorious ray onto his love banded his crimson armour and his sword, drenched with blood of the desires that hid within the shadows and absence of his power. He had gazed upon the sun, with but two tears, the last that would end the pain. The letter had only said:
Dear Son,
If you receive this letter, you’ll feel a cold burn within your heart. You’re life had been watched by me. Every night, I hadn’t been there to hold you through the rain, the night you had been drafted, I drafted you. Son, You’re mother and sister are angels; pure of heart and lived their lives a second at a time. Listen, all the mistakes and the tears you had made don’t mean you failed, I’ve seen you write, I’ve been there on your birthday. You’ve forgotten. I am within your heart. Son, you haven’t failed, but you haven’t won.
Love,
Your Father
He screamed, “Father! I have failed! I haven’t a heart,” as he grabbed his sword from his hilt, and raised it, “for this is not who I am,” as he began to sing the song his mother had taught him, “where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Raise your hand father, taste thy blood, WHERE ARE YOU FATHER! I NEED YOU!” the son had said while with all the fire within his heart, he through his sword into the river, and it froze into a statue of life, engraved within thee fruit of the forest. He cried but one tear that had crimson fire within it and the tears of his mother, sister, and he, and lived within him but God hasn’t released him and thy Twelve. We all lived within a time, of which we all existed into only two people, a woman and a man. God was ready.
“Hello Son.”
