Charlemenge's Seven Riddles
Charlemenge speaks each riddle aloud. The moonstone lectern records the words in silver letters.
Riddle One
I climb where none may stand,
I wear a crown of air,
I call the mountain small beneath me,
And say no equal's there.
What am I?
Riddle Two
I have a mouth that never eats,
A belly no coin can fill.
I swallow fields, houses, crowns, and names,
Then hunger for them still.
What am I?
Riddle Three
I paint a stranger's joy in green,
And count what is not mine.
I see a crown upon another brow
And wish that crown were mine.
What am I?
Riddle Four
I promise honey on the tongue,
A rose behind the door.
I make a want seem like a need,
Then whisper, “Only more.”
What am I?
Riddle Five
I build a feast inside my throat,
Yet leave the table bare.
I eat the gift, the plate, the praise,
And ask for one to spare.
What am I?
Riddle Six
I am a red bell in the blood,
I ring when crossed or slighted.
I turn a spark into a torch,
And call the ashes righteous.
What am I?
Riddle Seven
I am the softest chain,
The bed that bars the gate.
I tell the hand to wait, the foot to rest,
Until the hour is late.
What am I?
Inscription beneath the riddles
Seven mouths may speak one truth.
Name the hunger, not the thing it eats.
Name the wound, not the hand that strikes.
When every hidden vice is named,
The thorn forgets its master.