An Ode to the Dark Tower

Never was a tale so tall as this, Nor a tower so deserving of an ode like this; yet here it is told by the Reader. The one who was shaken, in passion: One through Determination, I stood up, One through Sacrifice, I pushed on, One through Love, I became brethren. Not to the gunslinger I owed my alliegence, for he was not my dinh (my Father), even though I loved him. Not to the Prisoner did I share compassion, or pity, for he possessed of strength I was envious of and awed in much array. Not to the Lady of Shadows could I fear, for there was so much to fear (God, yes, there was so much to FEAR; and the story nearly crippled my understanding of ka-Tet (of Family). For then came the Pusher, that disciple of Death, much a follower as Blaine ever was; say true! And then the worlds merged and Fate coagulated like Blood: For like blood, family was reunited ka made stronger with the bond of Father-Son, here, Jake given his third and final drawing; But, poison drained and deterred ka-mates and enemies alike. The waste lands (unimaginable in desertedness and suppression) . . . The fallen city of Lud (NY) . . . The transcended, copied land of Oz, and the blind master, known as the Ageless One, Maerlyn that was. But still, while their hearts were burdened in overwhelming odds, their courage quickened . . . Lo! and behold, a tale with a tail! a story rolled up and within itself hides more jewels of drama and (yes, Fate, for that is what Prophecy comes to, isn't it?) And what telling, than the one with whom it traumatized the most (Roland, poor Roland) and knew it best. Mejis was the last happy place, the last beautiful place. . . . the last beautiful girl . . . [not even the wizard's glass could make true love real again; for without the Keyworld, there is no going back, only forward, no matter the pain, no matter the loss, no matter the insurmount- able odds.] Insurmountable odds such as the collapse of the Beams themselves, brought on by the relentless. . force of predestined will and heartlessness to steal the very essence of childhood: the mind, with that glorious arcanum of Creativity, is what engineered the very breakdown of Life itself. These dancing visions of light brought on death and the Darkness that overwhelms mercilessly. Only the Song of . . . our souls, found the Way Back. The Way Back to the ones we love and care about, even in the face of (the Dark Tower) unwielding power; AND THAT POWER IS NOW THE GUNSLINGER'S, ROLAND OF GILEAD, SON OF STEVEN, THAT WAS, FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE: BECAUSE ONCE THE DARK TOWER SPEAKS, THE HEARER LISTENS AND LISTENS VERY WELL; NOW WITH THE RED KING'S DESTRUCTION, COMES A TIME OF PEACE FOR HIM WHO WANDERED FOR MANY-A YEAR, DELAH, IF IT DO YA, AND THE DOOR IS FOUND. THIS TIME FOR GOOD.