Description
Cinematic poetry by Laurence Fuller ~ created for “Immortal” Exhibition with Superchief for NFT Miami 2025.
I heard through rocks and fallow ~ thoughts they said in narrow hope,
For me to rise again,
And now their shame to bring my scope and sway.
To battle the cyclops this day,
I walked through the fields and the hay,
For days and days on the dregs of my banishment,
Through fog and grey.
Like a secret weapon left unused,
A sword kept idle, a sacred tool.
Until I heard the clopping hooves of cavalry,
Metal and stone now made the way,
The old familiar pathway.
Word did travel I had returned,
And the court surrounded me in turn
I received their usual curses,
Hurled at me,
Spoke from the worst of them of course.
My father scowled ~ then bellowed.
“The young man has suffered greatly,
He’s learned his lessons enough from what I’d say.”
“What is it that you want?
I need you approval not,
Not least the sounds coming out of your mouth make any sense to me,
One minute praise, the next a threat, always a test—this is your love?
I am the wretch on the receiving end?”
‘We need your talent at last.
The Prodigal Son returns it seems.’
‘Me?
It is I, you need?
I who was banished?
I that was cursed and must now vanish
Unworthy of your eyes, your thoughts, your gifts of language?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Oh how things do change,
The world it turns and legends are made,
How strange,
Did you predict,
All your heroes with all their gifts,
Could not swing the fatal sword nor weapons they could lift.
Well thanks for your attention how nice,
So what, I take out the cyclops for you?
Is that right?’
‘A bounty of Gold for you.’
‘At last.’
‘A castle of your own.’
‘And a throne?’
‘Fine.’
‘Bring me the sword you know is mine.’
I’ve trained for years to fight,
At last it comes to use,
And it’s my sword they choose.
Not the King’s. Not the Court’s. Only The Son’s blade.
When I first saw the beast,
It did not bring me too my knees,
I was not as impressed by its size,
Perhaps my peers were less wise,
I knew this blade I held,
Was the reckoning,
As I stared into its eye.
The beast had hands of mallets,
Arms so solid that they were trunks,
But in the face of my faith,
Standing forceful it could not.
Now it seems the banished has made good upon his word,
Now it seems the court and King in humility now have heard,
No doubt, it seems, in this world, could knock this bird from its perch.
Glory and the bounty is now counted by the Son’s own worth,
Protected are the people and the creatures of this earth.
For a son raised in exile did lift the curse.
~ LF
Cinematic poetry by Laurence Fuller
@laurencefuller
www.laurencefuller.art