The Scarlattan Fellowship Hall

By: Frya Posted on: April 05, 2010

She hears not the seabirds' calls,

Nor does she see the shops and stalls

Of Delos, as she walks its streets

To climb the stairs to the Scarlattan halls

She runs her fingers over the courtyard stones

Her breath is caught by the crimson and gold

Of the Atrium foyer, as she walks in silence

Wandering forth 'neath the towering dome

Descending the staircase, following the leaves

As they tumble along, their guidance she heeds

'Til she stands before the fireplace so grand,

But still, she has not yet found what she seeks

Her heart pulls her south, past tapestries of old

Past stories, past battles, all epics retold

The Great Hall echoes with her restless steps

Until finally she stops and looks up with hope

And look! here stands the statue of all that is art

All that has trembled within her fluttering heart

The dancer, the dreamer, the artist creator

She knelt at the base, yet looked up with a start

For her attention was snagged by an ornate gilded sign

Upon which was written in writing clear and fine

The names of the winners of past artisanals and bardics

Neatly arranged in their many rows and lines

This young artist read aloud those foreing names

Wondering at each fortunate contestant's fate

Then carefully, in the dust, she wrote upon the surface

One last unknown name, for one bright future day.