The Storyteller: An Original Poem

Egypt was a lifelong bucket list place to visit, but it called to me in a way I didn't expect. I thought it was the massiveness or perfection of the pyramids, or the royalty that lived there, or the ruins that once stood tall and mighty. No, for me, it was deep into the pyramids where intricate hieroglyphics forged history in vivid detail and faded color. Where stories were once told and still live on. Oh those everlasting imprints of hieroglyphics found within an ancient pyramid. What stories are yet to be discovered? This is what inspired the poem below, and a future story to be written.

Deep below the surface

Words, images, meanings are held

Close to the artist

But exposed for all the world to see

There is beauty in detail

Ancient scrolls made meticulously of Papyrus

Hours perfecting paper

Sharpening tools with so much love

Getting ready for expression

She outlives the vision

A great warrior

A fierce princess

The blessing of the Gods

Her gift is in the message

They see her

They hear her

Truth is spoken in earth-colored images

War, peace, prayer, mourning

Birth, pride, royalty, peasantry

Life before death

All one in sacred order

She taps away with her stone pen

Exquisite penmanship

Symbols are words

Encrypted for the past to leave the future wondering

What answers did she give us that are yet to be revealed?

A storyteller loves the mystery

The hidden messages

The clues you missed

Her mosaic of meaning pulled together in eloquence

They see an ancient series of carvings and wonder:

How?

But she knows deep in her bones

This God-given gift was hers to bear

An honor

A painstaking practice

One designed with love and loyalty

To tell the truth no matter the cost

Subtle secrets scripted

She smiles with the knowledge

She took it to the grave

While exposing veritas for the future storyteller to find

And perhaps it is myself in another life

That I look upon with curiosity

I wonder

I remember

"I was there. I know this story. Could it be by my own soul's hand?"

She lets herself believe it

Writing the new story in her head

And lets the next tale to be told be born