Stanley had been encaptured for several days that passed.
Learning many names and faces from the low and upper cast.
His owners did say he would never leave his bonds.
Yet it was their own folly that indeed proved them wrong.
One night when the moon was indeed full, awoken by strange sounds.
Stanley did rise to a peculiar sight, one he had not foreseen.
Many of his captors lay strewn and bloody that much he could glean.
Rising to a seated position he surveyed it all, learning the truth from his sight.
He was wrong, they had not truly died, brought to their knees by a greater fight.
They had battled all night against their great foe.
The red wine they drank, plundered from those with great woe.
Unsteady did they stand as the drink took them one by one.
They left this world with the shining descent of the sun.
Rising to his feet he loosened his bonds, with sharp implements strapped to a waist.
Freed, for now, he pondered his future fate.
A grin did slip, proud upon his face, denoting a thought his mind did grace.
Travelling from left to right, their clothes he did erase.
Grasping the dead chickens strewn across the barn, he made the scene quite different.
After his time as an amateur artist, he left the smelly place.
Releasing all other captives, they fled for greener pastures as if it was a race.
Travelling a time his destination he found.
A simple church placed, on holy ground.
He ranted and raved at the men of God, telling his vile tale.
Not of slavers, but a story of heretics did he regale.
Emboldened by their faith in their one and holy God.
They sent forth the paladins to root out these heretics with a stern rod.
Found there quarry they did, strewn around a barn.
Naked as the day they were born a tale did the scene yarn.
Sleeping men surrounding heretical symbols with blood-covered all over.
The men of God screamed and writhed, kneeling down lower.
They pleaded against their sentence of vileness and evil.
These men of neither faith, do not believe in God or Demon.
Went to prison nonetheless, so now they were even.
Stanley was praised for his holy deed as if he worked for God.
Little did they know he thought he was a sod.
He left the tiny town and the God-fearing people there-in.
Stanley did smile as he left, satisfied he did win.
The heretic they sought was indeed truly him.
For the heretical knowledge was taught to him by Tim.
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The Adventures Of Stanley - Narrative Poem
PoetryThe strange and wacky adventure of good old medieval peasant Stanley Woodson. Follow along on his epic poetic journey across the land, getting into all manner of strange situations.
