They say an old house sits on many an isle. In it, an old man with an old cat looks over old manuscripts. Curmudgeon he is called by some, by others wizard. Solemnly, he whispers spells under his breath. In the old house on the isle. An owl visits every night bringing tidings. Deer loiter where his house overlooks. He has the ear of beast and bird, though takes advice from neither. The old man, in the old house, on the isle. He once had an apprentice, Arthur. High hopes and great deeds were spoken. But things never turn out like the tales. In the old house, an old man sits. Retreating, he protects his heart. For in his age, it has been hurt many times. And though we should share it with many, in truth, we reveal it to few. In the old house on an isle an old man lives. They say he has no belongings. And everything lives in his mind. As memories we keep in kind and hoard only to be told where there’s wine. The old man on the isle where the old house sits. Every month when the moon has waned. And risen again bold and new. The old house leaves and reappears, on an isle in a river anew. There the old man will wait and live. Until another may come. And bring a new age of heroic deeds. A modern kingdom become.
If you liked this post and want to Tip / support me without the obligation of yet another subscription, consider buying me a coffee on ko-fi - ko-fi.com/montestaubyn
I like how you take some timeworn or iconic tropes here and make them compelling and new.