The Saint

Once upon a time, there was a saint
And once upon a time, the saint died.
Is life that short or is it that hard?
The saint played double agent
He wasnt even an enemy of the state
But about his other side?
Hiding behind the bridges, among trolls
Jumping up and about in the churches
No one knew the saint
No one cared for the saint
But he did
He followed the priest,
Listening on to the confessions of the mob
He collected dangerous secrets.

But he could never speak his opinions out loud
He did speak once,
The priest threw the bible on his head
He spoke twice,
And the priest tried to drown his bald head
He spoke the last time,
Still the priest picked him up and threw him on the ground.
Silence was a virtue, he learned.
He walked down the paths of life
And people threw stones at him,
Offended by his silence
He returned back to the church,
Biting his tongue from complaining to the priest
He still had a lot to learn from the priest, he knew
But the priest screamed at him for failing
The saintly little disciple turned around and again walked down the streets

Hovering under the bridges, he sat
Waiting and waiting and waiting
His life would waste away with time
The fellow trolls grumbled with him, and he finally opened his mouth
Pleasing the priest would help him, he had thought
And now, he turned to the trolls
The gigantic, ugly and hairy bodies were fascinating
The little saint tore open his robes
His dignity falling down with the tattered cloths
They flowed along the paths of the river
And reached directing to the priest
The priest thought the little saint had defiled himself
And so he stirred up a plan
Could he turn the little cheery saint to his own image?
The plan turned as dark as mud- blackened by the ink that the priest used

But the saint was slightly clever
He walked in the church, mumbling the fables of the priest
Taking a leap of faith, he told the priest of the newly converted
But his mouth was slammed shut
"The adult is talking" yelled the priest
He swore up and down, round and about
Spitting out the testimonies the saint should live by
The little saint lowered his head,
Submitting to the great man they called priest
Guilty in the eyes of the priest, he bowed low
The saint touched the feet of the priest
"Oh the blessed feet" the altar boy swore haughtily.

But it was too late,
The saint's heart was focused on pleasing the priest
He painted the pictures of the priest on the walls
He spoke of his legacy
And then the saint lay flat on the ground, begging for mercy
The town folks had better things to do
They did not bat an eye on the little saint,
Walking over his little body
Soon a red carpet was draped over him
And the priest walked across, on top of the saint
He did not usher a word
For now he was degraded to a doormat
The villagers froze and turned to the priest,
Bowing and moving along on their way
Still the priest kept standing on the little saint.

The worthlessness crossed over the little saint
From the corner of his eye, he saw the tall trolls silently watching
They never cared either, did they?
In fury, the saint stood up, but he had cause the priest to fall.
It was too late,
The priest had hit his head on the poster and was completely dead.
The altar boy appeared like magic, carrying the body away.
The townspeople sized the little saint up,
With one punch, they knocked his teeth out
He lay them, surrounded by his own blood,
Thinking about life
Yet all he felt was guilt
He condemned himself loudly and the passersbys mocked him.

With a heavy heart, he walked back to the church
The trolls no longer welcomed him
The little saint knew he deserved it.
But lo and behold to his surprise,
The priest greeted him with a warm hug
"I was merely unconscious", the priest explained
He moved his hand up to roughly pat the saint's head
The priest sounded happy
The little saint smiled, happy as well
But the priest let out a sound of disdain
A bloody smile without teeth was not pretty to look at
The saint understood, smiling meekly
He bowed low on the ground, apologizing for the blood
The priest smirked,
This was something he definitely could get used to.

In the pressures of pleasing and self condemning,
The little saint ruined his social image
He kept in the church,
Only goofing around with the altar boy when the priest did not look
The trolls must have not even felt his absence,
And he tried not to think of it
The priest watched everything the saintly lad did
But he did not know about the saint and the altar boy
It grew more fierce with time but still remained in the shadows
It became the saint's second life.
In front of the priest, the saintly disciple remained quiet,
He remained as a footstool
The priest did not allow him to go out,
Instead he remained under his "eagle eyes".

But one morning, tragedy struck
The altar boy was old enough to leave and he did
Mid-noon, the priest collapsed, dying of a heart attack.
The saintly little lad walked about the church depressed
However, the door flew open and the townsfolk entered
They threw him out and appointed the altar boy
The new priest turned his back on the small saint
And began his new era of priesthood.

The little saint accepted his fate
And occasionally helped a homeless few
The trolls ignored him out of spite.
He tried to please them but they didnt recognize him.
He attempted his last on the townsfolk and they threw him out.
The little saint grew mundane, for he knew he wasnt anything special.
His only skills were pleasing people but,
Apparently that was not a skillset made in heaven.
Jobs rejected him and so did life
The world wasnt bad, nor was the priest,
It was the saint's fault, everyone agreed.
He rolled along the streets and the paths till he fell off a cliff
Nobody knew it is an accident or intentional,
Nobody knew if he was pushed or shoved
They left his body there without a proper funeral
At least he was on the ground to rot away
The vultures came down, feeding on the carcass.
And that of the tale of the little saint.

-Robyn