Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25143862-20180210160526

The first time I wrote a poem telling a story - in English. Your constructive feedback is kindly appreciated : ).

THE SORCERER’S APPRENTICE

Her master has gone for the night

So at last the girl can test her might

On the wand laid to rest she lays her hands

So that the spirits do as she them commands

The orb starts to glow as she plays her tune

And sparkles, too, erupt from the tomb

Where the dead lay, once well at rest

But now have become part of this test

As sparkles sprinkle in the wizard’s old mill

A deafening noise delivers a chill

But quickly dissolved is the girl’s fear

As slowly the dead draw to her near

And bow before her, willing to do

Whatever she demands them, they’ll follow through

“Slowly the mills grind

Slowly the stream flows

And now I find

That my power grows

The bones must be crushed

To magic dust

And these servants dead

Will do so, they must.”

As many a hand makes heavy work light

The dead are ordered to turn tonight

The old mill’s wheel, so that it to dust

The bones they grind and thus so they are crushed

The dust they collect and bring to the dray

Standing outside near the ghost town’s quay

Then they pull the cart to the black tower

Stapling sacks of dust as they would flower

Her job now made light, the girl turns to sleep

Pleased with herself as her slaves creep

And increase the output; so hard they work

Their job done so quickly that the wheel runs berserk

The cogwheels they squeak, they’re so wildly turning

As the stream’s waters turn to mad churning

“Quickly the mills ground

Quickly the stream flows

And now that I’ve found

That my power grows

They’ve crushed the bones to magic dust

Now I must stop them, stop them I must!”

The orb glows still, the sparkles still sparkling

Yet fear now becomes this little darkling

As she seeks to find the proper spell

To stop them from doing their job done so well

Yet now she fails, she cannot find

The spell to change her minion’s minds

So to the axe she turns instead

And fiercely she cuts off their lifeless heads

Therewith the threesome finally at rest

The girl understands she failed her own test

Now that she’s learned well from her mischief

She nevertheless feels some relief

That all played out well, that despite her failing

Her presence of mind allowed her prevailing.

“No longer the mills ground

Slowly the stream flows

And now that I’ve found

That my power might grow

I have much to learn still

Before I can turn to my will

The dead and alive, so I will hide

My old master’s wand, I’ll put it aside.”

And so the girl once more turns to sleep

And she starts to dream so very deep

But in the darkness dead eyes now lurk

As the dead bodies return to their work

Once more they return to turn the wheel

Once more they return to their ordeal

Once more they fill full to the brim

The dray as they hum their own ghostly hymn

And so again the cogwheels they squeak

As the dead again their way they seek

Up to the tower and back down to the mill

Willing once more to do the girl’s will

As the bones turn to dust, and ash now is spread

The girl wakes up, and sees the dead

“Must the mill grind?

Must the stream flow?

Why do I find

That they still go?

Oh, Master, help me,

For I know not how

I should end this calamity now.”

Now the girl tries to stop quickly her fiends

With the axe their work she intervenes

But this to no avail, and instead the dead

Take hold of her strongly by the hair on her head

As the girl screams, and tries to fight

For her freedom she finds that her plight

Will soon come to an end, as the dead throw

Her into the shaft and push her down below

Now the mill grinds no longer dead bones

But instead the girl, who screams and groans

First come the feet, then come the legs

Then the torso is crushed, and as the girl begs

For mercy, which the dead do not know

They take now her head, and slowly they go

Into the tomb, from whence they came

For now they and the girl are all the same

No longer alive, the girl yet still draws breath

As the dead carry her head into the depth

The game has now finally come to a close

As have the spirits, the river town’s ghosts

And when the old wizard returns to his home

He finds that he is now quite alone

And soon understands what has become

Of his young student and the wrong she has done.

“Slowly the mills grind

Slowly flows the stream

And now I find

My student’s dream

To ashes turned

To dust it has burned

Now I must find, and quickly so

A new apprentice—but where to go?”

And so the old wizard takes up his wand

And sets off once more to the upper land

There Ab’aham once more he finds

A child young still, and in disguise

He lures him away, from his father’s keep

And brings him to his home far in the deep. 