A traveler's tale
 
A traveler wandered far and wide,
searching after shells of gold on the seaside,
when came a big and glowing tide,
see: it arrived with a mysterious guide.

It arrived in seaweed and kelp of gold,
and glitter actually, although it looked old,
a message in bottle, carefully hand rolled,
a scroll that mysterious secrets told.

The traveler got scared of what he read
so he went to the wisest sorcerer instead
he told mysteries too profound for his head,
secrets like pearls on a magic type of thread.

“First, you have to go to the mountains of wise
in a most precise and brilliant disguise
and when you hear the seven melodic cries
look for the green and feminine eyes.

Then, when you`ve found out the secrets it hid,
look for the octopus, rather squid
made in arms of bronze, it is holding a grid,
though be very careful, it will you forbid.

So, now you`ve found the core of coal,
you need some ampere to get it to roll,
and some salt from sea to put in a bowl,
this will taste good for your dry soul.

You need some mercury in pocket as well,
this, will the seventh artisan sell,
he lives near the secret, royal cells
you know him by a most certain smell.

This, there is,” said the sorcerer then,
“These are the secrets of ancient zen,
the gold that will teach all mankind`s men
to stay in their true nature again.”

The traveler looked at him questioning
all that he said, then lessening
the secrets he told, as lecturing,
accusing him of Mind`s trespassing.

So, sorcerer smiled, and then disappeared, 
leaving the traveler lost and feared,
but then his great ego got it all cleared,
and now he felt the whole thing as weird.

“But this”, he said, “this, I will sell,
this will be better than golden shells, 
so here I can`t stay, I cannot dwell,
I have to go out to the world and tell!”

He went to the city with structures of high,
these mountains of city disguised the sky,
the first thing he heard, was a choir of sigh,
they sang about sorrow, and there were the eyes!

This woman of song, she looked like a fairy,
her eyes of green and with hair of cherry,
in melodies sang, sounded heavenly airy
her dress with flowers: her name was Mary.

He loved her from the very first look,  
the air it stopped, the ground it shook
this hadn`t been learned from some ancient book,
this feeling of being trapped in this nook!

He stayed and listened to her magical song, 
for hours wide, for minutes long,
her voice was soft, but yet, so strong, 
he felt like in heaven, like here - he belonged!

And then it was over, they all went away,
and he couldn`t be, no he couldn`t stay, 
he had to go follow, he needed to say
how she was her newer, brighter day.

He followed her into an area grand,
this old deposit of farmer`s land
now only grass, and home to a brand:
this carnival named “Fun in Sand”

And there, where this carousel had its night,
he saw this strange and macabre sight,
a ten-armed monster, an octopus white
with arms made of bronze in mighty height.

Now, this is when he first feels pain, 
how heart is bound by heavy chain
he saw his beauty, in salty rain, 
and suddenly insight of sorrow attained.

He walked away, he couldn`t see,
he had to run, he had to flee, 
he ran to the salt and down to the sea,
he did not want to stay, nor be.

 And when the flood reached its tide, 
there weren`t more chances to stay and hide, 
he suddenly turned his head to the side,
the strangest smell, something oddly fried.

By seven blocks, in the royal street,
a man sat on dirty, colored sheets,
he cooked in bowl of bronze so neat,
it made the cloth fold into pleats.

“I`ll give you the taste of the soul of sea! 
it happens in every time made three, 
so look at me, son, sit down on your knee`
tell me your sorrows and give me your plea!”

And wanderer cried, and therefore the key
he gave to his Master in happenings three, 
he told about sorrow, `bout lady, yes, she
who captured his heart, so that he wasn`t free.

And Master he listened, and nodded, and smiled, 
he knew `bout this human, this fleed, free child,
the one who chose to be bold and wild, 
who never was shaped, or formed, nor styled.

“You felt all alive, yes almost awake, 
and air it danced while the ground did shake, 
but then it all stopped, yes all did it brake, 
and all that you are is now in deep ache”

The wanderer listened, for first time he heard,
he started to see from a vision so blurred, 
he stopped to think like he was one in herd, 
of people and thoughts, but now more like a bird.

“But, how did you see this? How did you…”
“Know? Oh, I have my secrets, my own sacred flow. 
But you, you forgot… your cargo.”

Yes, wanderer looked in his right hand, 
a bottle with message, once covered in sand, 
he found it there, floating, so then it reached land, 
and here he now was, and now had to stand.

He carefully opened, this old paper strand,
his arm was shaking, yes this was grand.

“When pain has arrived, decided to stay, 
you`ll feel all at lost, your soul will feel gray, 
but then is this game that you`ll need to play;
you`ll stand up again, and find new bay:

Your heart is the message, your heart is the soul,
and this is thousands of years old, 
you`ll need some pain, or may we say coal, 
to reach your final, greatest role. “

A traveler`s tale can never fail,
find your purpose,
remove the veil.