THE WHITE TOWER

  I was beautiful once 

  Poetry dripped off my lips like honey. And I could make the most heavenly music. 

  I told the most incredible stories. And I could speak in several tongues. 

  I felt deeply. And loved fiercely. 

  I would burst into a song for no reason. And dance a jig in the middle of the street. 

  I was foolish. I was beautiful.  And I loved myself. 

  But I was hungry and poor. So I sold myself to the White Tower. 

  I was to be a solider in it’s army , for the White Tower fought many battles. 

  And it needed beautiful people in it’s army 

  It gave me a few pieces of silver , a sword and a plumed helmet 

  So off I went to fight battles. I fought in the meadows. And on the beaches. 

  I brought down monsters and ran yelling into breaches. 
  
  I won many battles for the White Tower. 

  And every few years , it would give me one more piece of silver , a longer sword and a better helmet 

  I am a skilled soldier now , a veteran of many battles and the scars to show for it. 

  I am no longer hungry and poor. 

  But the only music I now make is when I march to battle. War cries are my only songs. 

  The expletives I shout at the enemy are my poems. My battle scars mutely relate my stories. 

  And now I understand only the tongue of war. 

  I don’t dance anymore because my sword is too long and my helmet too heavy 

  I don’t allow myself to feel 

  I haven’t dared to look into a mirror for a long long time now for I don’t think I am beautiful anymore. 

  That’s fine. As long as I keep fighting battles that’s fine. 

  The White towers fights many battles and it will always need me . 

   It will , wont it?