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Songs of Sonnets: The Tale of Prince Zag The Freid

 

CAST:

 

Prince Zag The Freid: Son of King Othor The Fried, younger brother of Prince Zig The Freid

 

Duke Mor: Close friend of King Othor and an arbiter between father the king and of his son the young prince

 

Lord Zog: The Lord Chancellor of the realm, presently designated as an educator to the young prince

 

The mythical land of Uthlandia, high above the nordic plains, once ruled by a former Nordic named Freid The Red, a cousin to Erik. The story begins in the stronghold of his great-grandson, Prince Zag The Freid, located far in the Uplands where lies a few villages. It opens with the Lord Chancellor, whose feeble attempts to soften the ire of a woeful young lad, still having long hurtful feelings of rejection, by his own family:

 

CHAPTER I: The Free Born

 

Lord Zog:

A waste of a free, born to a just throne,

Is it not plain, that all good, be your own,

For death be the night, then dark be the day,

Set thy bow, make your claim, for me you slay,

 

Prince Zag The Freid:

Should death be vain, with no song, with no tune,

Ought one life part, from this Earth and fair moon,

To rush the day, bring on the night, a gift

For my love is born, my free heart be swift,

 

Hence, loose lips are proved, this show of truth be,

A clear move made owned of hands that aid me,

Haunts are freed from this place, sailed sun, it rise,

Seize this day to be lived, wealth be its prize,

 

Free the day sweet life, and swords born to sheath,

Let joy be for free hearts, let the born breathe.

Lord Zog:

Nay my young prince, 'tis not the time for play,

Prince Zag The Freid:

What sort, of course, that last, dare you to say,

Lord Zog:

It is long past the hour, for your liege waits,

Your room is yours, and to that, loosed the gates,

 

Prince Zag The Freid:

My dear liege, proof of my cares, for my aides,

Set the plates, filled the cups till its base fades,

Now have you brought words from the king, my sire,

Duke Mor:

One of a mad heart, a son, for the mire,

 

Prince Zag The Freid:

A trip so long that it would trap the night,

And not to have shared the sun of its flight,

These words, be they, not new signs bear some truth,

His heart be mad, and 'tis heart sad, a youth,

 

Move meant he gave! Naught send, me to this place,

Mad, was naught! He was of clear thoughts, my grace.

 

Duke Mor:

Think back to what you say, 'tis but a tale,

Prince Zag The Freid:

Be the truth, birds still fly, rain-wet to bail,

The truth is round us, I know why it is,

Duke Mor:

No my young prince, say naught the name, naught his,

 

Prince Zag The Freid:

Zig it is,for I said it, name is Zig,

He is the best, for I am Zag the pig,

One naught to be, for I am but a ghost,

All for what I do does naught mount to most,

 

He can tell stars to stop their blink, but why,

We wish it so, that is cause, not to try,

Frail proofs of more loved hearts of those he likes,

The path made wide by men whose beast bears spikes,

 

He has been spared trails that I took for him,

What knows he, of grief and pain, be so prim.

 

The stars that guide the path of us, swayed some,

Neath his head, shined the brightest, and I none,

Be it my own, sire, or sky high our heads,

I have been judged not to be, and it spreads,

 

The path I take, one caused for me, turns left,

I go the right and in luck I be blest,

I know it be a test of my sire's will,

One I will fail, for it aim so, I chill,

 

You were right, the words be true, of my sire,

That I drag me soul through the bogs, the mire,

For now I maketh me cold, aide, bring fire,

Let me warm me innards, set blaze me pyre,

 

Let me go yon a bit, me head needs rest,

Nay but a short while, it will serve me best.

Duke Mor:

My sire, would you grant me to give you this,

Ere you take leave from me, 'tis words of bliss,

Be the sign you seek, says, one who came far,

Mild words that may reach your heart, hope they are,

Prince Zag The Freid:

I lay claim to the note that you bring me,

For it may loose the arrow that rest free,

In this beat ends of a core, frame a heart,

Shake, and there be more life, for it beat dark,

 

Say these words be of good cheer, how know thee?

Duke Mor:

He grew weak, I was in the room, 'twas wee,

Prince Zag The Freid:

Weak you say! Is the king ill, speak to me!

Duke Mor:

Nay, the king is of good cheer, truth it be,

 

It was late in the night when he wrote this,

He said words I not heard, it all was bliss.

Prince Zag The Freid

My lord, you have graced our home since my birth,

There be no breadth of time of your vast worth,

You have stayed close to the king and our house,

There is no one more pledged, no one can douse,

 

Of what you said, is so true, acts of joy,

He speaks as if I was that small young boy,

There was a great hill, Zig climbed to the top,

Boy of same age, went, not all the way up,

 

Zig just stopped things like that, now thinks than do,

I think he felt bad, he thinks he could too,

I think the king say so too, just like Zig,

It is best that we all change and be big,

 

I will go pack my things, we will leave soon,

Good, will turn best, we will head west at noon.

Copyright © William Kekaula 2018

Author: William Kekaula
I am a retiree of the hospitality industry, presently, residing in my birthplace town of Hilo, Island of Hawaii, a.k.a. Big Island, in the 50th State of Hawaii, USA, and as a writer, I have a passion for fictional storytelling, but some nonfictional, as well.

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