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The Seven Stones

In the Beginning

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Where does this cursed circle begin? I surmise it starts at the beginning of all things. Before you. Before me. Before the earth, universe, and even the creator. For the beginning defines the end, like the drawing of a great circle. A circle so vast and unknowable, that nothing, neither the creator nor the greatest historian, could foresee its repetition, save one--a creature neither planned nor anticipated by the universe. I now hold the parchment which contains this discovery, penned and given to me for safekeeping by the Grand Riddler, my greatest pupil, who perceived the arc of reality at the tender age of seven. Yet I cannot help but smear the letters. For I failed to keep safe their author; and consequently, all of history as well.

Like the riddler’s life, the letters of this poem are sketchy; the prose, rough. I can only hope that in death, my fondest pupil transcended the feebleness of flesh and solved the last riddle. The riddle of the riddler’s existence.



The Seven Stones

by

Flumpfoot
The Smurf Historian





In the Beginning was Thought.
The endless void, It perceived.
Like fine patterns within weave,
Thought roamed this black tapestry.

On the edge of this knitting,
Thought stumbled, discovering:
Tassels of self, laced with gold,
Amidst tufts of lonely soul.

Awakening at that time,
God Himself was wrenched and wrought.
For thought perceived its own thought.
The endless void was His mind.

Utter emptiness aloft,
God hoisted The Silver Sails,
Which billowed upon the wafts,
Of introspection of self.

Upon oceans of deep thought,
Loneliness capsized the deck.
Abreast seven humble rocks,
The prow of God was shipwrecked.

Outward, from these fabled Stones,
All began unraveling.
God clung to these vestiges,
Of His tattering psyche.

Crunch! The black fabric curled,
Rumbling and tumbling,
Into a white hot pearl,
Collapsing all thoughts of mind,
To a point of glinting light,
Of awe in His tearful eye,
That then flared with mad delight.

Boom! On spindles, God’s thoughts raced,
Through looms of creativeness,
Weaving cloth of time and space,
Finer than gossamer webs.

Universes—steaming seas,
Whirlpools of Galaxies,
Bubbling brooks of hot stars,
And froth of quarks and quasars!

The heavens and hills and rills,
God thread on great spinning wheels.
Gladdened at his crafty work,
He capered, then named it Earth.

Plucking whiskers from his beard,
Which squirmed about, left and right,
God planted each with a tear,
Endowed with natural life.

Cultivated on the Earth,
These lively whiskers evolved,
Into creatures of great mirth,
Like gryphons, dolphins, and dogs.

Dividing divinity,
God unstitched six psychic strings,
And tossed them upon the winds,
To find their own destiny.

One string landed in a dell,
Silverglen, a redwood grove,
Sprouting into nimble elves,
Masters of leather and bow.

One string landed in a cave,
Halls of rock, it carved away,
Sculpting into dumpy dwarves,
Masters of gems and ores.

One string, on a mountain peak,
Stars in hair; towers at feet,
Silhouetting sorcerers,
Masters of magic and lore.

One landed on a seashore,
Built castles about the lands,
Caking into zealous man,
Masters of seas and of sword.

One string landed on a knoll,
And burrowed labyrinths of holes,
Bunching into tiny smurfs,
Masters of morphing and herbs.

The last floated on the winds,
Nestled in clouds in the skies,
Coalescing into sprites,
Masters of charm and of finch.

God's mind and powers now spent,
To preserve life, He set sail,
And recovered from lost realms,
Seven relics of legend.

From the mighty Seven Stones, God chiseled a piece from each:
One he bestowed the Elf Lord, nested aloft in his trees.
One more to the Dwarf Master, mining ores within deep caves.
One more to the Grand Wizard, conjuring on high mountain peaks.
One more to the King of Men, brooding in castles and naves.
One more to the Smurf Prince, burrowing tunnels through the ground.
One more to the Sprite Princess, floating in cities of cloud.

The last of the Seven Stones,
God spent to be flesh and bone.
In glass high above the earth,
He fell asleep all alone.

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