Rusk, the Inscriber

The Prelude of Rhi Tau, i, ii.

A Monk Scribe

Author’s note: this is a narrative style poem, giving the introduction to a longer work. This introduction is called “The Prelude of Rhi Tau”, this is the first two stases. It is alliterative and inspired by the style of older English poetry. I have tried to divide it into stases in order to limit meandering verse and ensure the work is legible to the reader. It may be set to music. We begin with the author’s introduction:

i.

Not one would believe the word I send 
And see the one who sends it now!
O, needful now as naught before
To fetch a light, to lend a hand
To he who wills to understand;

My hairs are gray and here suppose
A pensioner or pauper's sire
Who stays with cargo stations held
And hops the cars in coming night
Another man would mark this sleight;

So strange to say it certain is
This inn is younger yet than I
And isle I knew another time
In truth I fear before the dawn
I drew the stars 'fore day came on;

I watched it form, effulgent thing
Entire the sky and sea a glass
It gave a rush when red it rose
And rendered twilight time an end
The end of night, the age of men.

So in my book I entered thus:
"our Twilight time it tarries not,
and new a Day it draws us out
and over hev'n now hangs the Dusk."
so dashed had been, in the book of Rusk.

ii. 

And wearied I of writing there
Of times of war, of when great kings
Were killed by pride, or pleasure-struck
Were sent to prisons of strange design
When shadowy hung a will malign;

These histories must have an end.
Their evils make a man to wish
That were they stories such for bards
And by their telling, taking heart
That he in them would have no part.

Our people's end has passed me now
Enow to become bound and led
At last before the law be judged
And shown our fate, and just it says:
"In exile you shall end your days."

And there more days than dare I count
I called such remnant kin of mine
And made injunction should they hear
And have the will a world to keep
But careless spent! And so I weep;

"O, so you were the sons of God,
"But go you down perdition's path
"Impossible, your prophets swore
"But such I saw, like seeing dusk."
and drew it shut, that book of Rusk.