The low sun cast long shadows across the weathered stone steps. Caleb climbed slowly, taking in the hidden nooks and hollows of the ancient stairway. At the top stood a small house, its walls curving inwards like the shell of a snail.
Caleb knocked softly on the door. After a long moment, it creaked open to reveal an aged face, wrinkled as crumpled parchment yet lit from within by keen eyes.
"I seek the wisdom of the Seer," Caleb said.
The old woman studied him with deep, umber eyes. Then she stood aside and gestured him in. "Come then, poet. We have much to discuss."
The house was sparse yet somehow filled with the weight of years. In every worn object and fading tapestry, Caleb sensed the hand of time. The Seer gestured for him to sit.
"What knowledge do you seek?" Her voice was soft yet carried great authority.
"I seek to discover the true purpose of poetry," Caleb replied. "To understand what it means to be a poet in this world."
The Seer smiled. "You have come to the right place, young seeker. Wisdom comes not from books alone, but from seeing with fresh eyes."
They spoke for hours as shadows lengthened. The Seer shared stories of humanity's follies and triumphs, of love and loss, insight and ignorance. And through her words, Caleb glimpsed fragments of truth.
Finally, the Seer said "A true poem holds both beauty and truth - it pierces illusion to reveal some deeper reality."
Caleb nodded slowly. "Poetry does not merely describe what is seen...but what ought to be."
The Seer smiled. "You begin to see, poet. For the power to transform need not lie in the wonders described - but in the act of description itself."
Ages gather in worn eyes,
Tales untold in sighs
And wisdoms hard won.
I sit before her
Who has seen much
And forgotten more.
Faded tapestries
Tell tales half remembered
Of times long past.
In hollows and corners
Lingers wisdom kept,
The dust of ages.
And through words said
In voice soft worn
Comes truth distilled.
Illusions fall away
As light floods in
Through shuttered windows.
The old heart knows
What youth forgets -
The truth that sets us free.
New sight comes
From seeing anew
What has always been.