Legend
by Brett L. Becker


Years ago, in a time of war,
A tall young man came to my door.
He had, in hand, a diamond ring.
A glittering gem, a priceless thing.

He bid me listen, and listen well.
To the story that he meant to tell.
I offered my pipe, some bread, and tea.
And never once his eyes left me.

Those eyes were fires, flashing bright.
His madness shone on that moonless night.
And in his palm, the ring so fine
Reflected his eyes and chilled my spine.

He sipped his tea and puffed some smoke.
The ring held my gaze until he spoke.
‘You see this stone is strange, my friend.
I’ve seen enough to wish its end!

I’ve carried it ever since the night,
In a town, my home, it caused a fight
Whose end was death, and I was blamed.
My leg was broken, my hand was lamed.’

He held it forth; I saw the hand
Was gnarled, the fingers twisted and,
‘…I left my home, I could not stay.
This ring has haunted me since that day.

I traveled far, across the sea.  This ring
This damned ring! would not leave me.
When mornings came I would take the ring
And bury it,’ and here his voice, piercing!

‘Bury it alive, in mud or sand.
Then I would leave, across the land.
But lo! When darkness fell at night
The ring returned to my finger, right

Where it had been, oh God!  You see?!
This ring has a power over me.’
I looked him over, head to heel.
His eyes shone red and I could feel

The ring in my mind, and I knew it true.
The diamond was alive: it knew.
‘This ring has life!’ he cried aloud.
A cold wind blew; I gathered my shroud.

‘And every good thing that’s befallen me
This ring has stolen, killed, and see…
The misery it brings about,
I cannot halt, I cannot rout!

Every friend I’ve made this ring has killed.
My love, while smiling, with a knife was stilled.
My father, in a bath he died.
This cursed ring!’ and now he cried.

‘You see,’ he said, with a weary tone,
‘I cannot go on, I am so alone.
The ring has taken over me.’
And here, so weak, he spilled his tea.

‘This diamond has brought my fate to you.
Good sir, I beg, please see it through
That here tonight, so I may be free
My life, my curse, is taken from me.’

Shocked, I stared into his eye,
And there saw pain in which he could not lie.
This man, this soul, was hexed and so
I nodded slowly; his breath let go.

I rose and walked across the room.
The silence hung as in a tomb.
I reached above my fireplace.
My axe was there; tears traced my face.

His eyes were wide, and glowed blood red.
By the light of the fire, and I felt dread.
I glanced at his hand, saw the ring ablaze
With fiery hate, and in the haze

We ventured slowly out the door,
Around the house, into the moor
That surrounds my town and in the fog
The man knelt down above a log.

His face was taught, his muscles tight.
The stars above twinkled blue and white.
I raised the axe; he breathed in deep
And down it fell: he could finally sleep.

The body, ring and all, I took
Down a small hill, to a tree near the brook.
I buried him there, under five feet of ground.
The night held myself, and no other sound.

I quickly returned; I was shivering cold.
Morning approached: the night had grown old.
Still, I slept deeply, without dreaming, until
The sun struck my window from over the hill.

I woke with a start, turned away from the light.
I could hardly recall the young man in the night.
I rose, then, and dressed, ambled into the hall.
And saw my old axe in its place on the wall.

Memories, then, did return with a rush.
I knew what I’d done; I felt my face flush.
And then, in the doorway, where I always stand,
I felt an odd pinch on the back of my hand.

I started and gasped, glanced down toward the pain.
And there, on my finger, it sat, like a chain.
The diamond.  I shrieked.  I pulled at the ring.
It came off in my palm.  I heard it laughing.

I threw it away, far, out of my sight.
The next day when I woke, it had returned in the night.
And so it is with me, this circlet of gold.
My life has slipped downward; my hand is now cold.

This diamond, this Evil, this curse the man brought
Is always beside me and O the wonder it’s wrought!
Death to my friends: sickness and tears!
And to me?  I live on.  I live on through the years!

I am weak.  I am frail… this ring is so strong.
Its power and life are both mortally wrong.
So I beg you, my friend, will you please help me try?
This ring is my grave, and it is my time to die.


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