Nick Hilton

Rookie (London)

The Apprentice - Poem by Nick Hilton

Accompanying poem to: http: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=2OITNjNrkuk


He took the road down from the glen,
And wandered lonely through the trees,
Save for the sound of the winter wren,
And the quakes beneath his knees,

He came upon a bracken wood,
And trampled through the dead leaves,
He filled with fears not understood,
And felt the way his heart greaves,

Cried out he did like the lark,
And a winter cruel confined him,
He tried to fight against the dark,
And see where the lights grew dim,

And soon upon his weary lane,
A rundown house appears,
And desperate to escape the rain,
He conquers what he fears,

Long time he searches for a door,
None will open for him,
Past scenes of evil gone before,
And pleasantries turned pale and grim,

Until at last he finds the light,
A door long left ajar,
And lost of all his will and fight,
Enters from a far,

The floor is cold and the walls are bare,
The lights are flickering near,
Until at once the lights aren't there,
And he is gripped by fear,

He grabs a flashlight from a shelf,
And flicks it on to see,
But he can't even see himself,
Nor see what else might be,

And candle lies upon a table,
So sore with all the strife,
He grabs and match and finds he's able,
To bring a flame to life,

He carries it into the hall,
And see's some lanterns for use,
He tries to light each one and all,
But their flickering range stays loose,

He drags them down upon the tiles,
To sleep per chance to dream,
And as his mind moves miles and miles,
Unawakened by the scream,

Back fall the folds of the actors screen,
A masked apprentice enters in,
And with a gaze so soft and keen,
With his mouth in a hideous grin,

And so awakes the tiring man,
The curtains does he spot,
The sweat is cold his heart has ran,
He's out like a shot,

But soon then apprentice will return,
And when he takes you then,
Your hopes and dreams will he burn,
As happened to the men,

Who threw him from the stage one night,
And cast him in the cold,
And stirred in him this putrid fight,
And made his spirit bold,

Blooded and bruised you sit in pain,
Studying the garments which lie by your side,
For now you must start this thing again,
And onwards may you ride,

The masked avenger saw in your eyes,
The weakness and the fear,
And though your mind slowly dies,
Your time is coming near.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 8, 2008



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