Tag Archives: war

And So it Became

Standard

And so she wished for true love.

The man in black regarded her curiously,
mentioning something of human imprudence.
Waved a hand in the the air and so it became
that her life in her love should commence.

And so she wished she was happy.

The man in black gave her his word
promised her a life of riches and gold.
Waved a hand in the air and so it became
that she live her life set as was told.

And so she wished for forever.

The man in black told her it was so,
gave her eternity locked in a bottle.
Waved a hand in the air, and so it became
that she had returned to poverty again,
her love had left with her heart in his hand,
her soul had been stolen,
and tossed to different lands.

And so she had forever.
Alone in her thoughts,
that she might live another year,
was a fear that left her distraught.

And so she wished for death.

The man in black agreed.
He waved his hand and so it became
that there was no more left of her greed.

Greed is a truly awful sin. To want for more than you need to survive is frowned upon in most society. And yet, it is hard for some to stop the want, the feigned need, for materialistic objects, or for things that are unattainable.

As the Beatles said, “All you need is love.” It could have stopped there. Happiness relies on the love of another. And so it is, and will always be.

The Slave of Dusk

Standard

Broken shackles and links of chain
clatter on concrete walls.
Her feet slide one in place of the other
as she passes other, long-empty stalls.

She is free.
They say.

Her steps echo boundless to ceilings and floor,
and ricochet off iron bars.
She steps out of her prison to a placid night
pockmarked with long-gone stars.

She had hoped
to see the sun.

The luminescent moon is veiled
by wisps of audacious cloud.
Heaven, which seemed so close once upon a time,
seems so far away to her now.

The angels bear her
no light.

Phantom hounds from Hell stalk behind,
padding on well-worn paws.
Nipping at her ankles, catching her broken chains,
tearing her leg-flesh raw.

They will
never go.

Ghosts of nameless faces follow,
seemingly her entourage.
But guards, instead, and inescapable
and as elusive as her will’s mirage.

They are taking her
despite the truth.

To the edge of abyss, and so far down,
into a void unknown.
None return, and none survive
the execution of such renown.

She is
innocent.

A crowd has gathered, with gapes of awe,
and laughter to appease.
And her captor in his golden crown,
a royal, ostentatious beast.

He will not
yield.

He has given them a show,
but the best is yet to come.
The crowd yearns for blood, for death, and flesh
and glistening, visible bone.

She will not
cry.

Her eyes scan the crowd, pick out those she knew,
who turn away in shame.
“Good,” she thinks. “Feel regret for this,
mourn for your eternal blame.”

She hates these
people the most.

And then, she finds him, still a boy,
more youthful now than before.
His eyes are wide, tears stain his cheeks
and his soul fights a hidden war.

She is
reassured.

“Any last words?” the proud king asks,
a glee behind his smirk.
She shakes her head and takes her place,
stifling her fear and mirth.

She is
assured.

Isn’t she?

Her eyes find him, her only love,
stepping forward in the crowd.
Closer to where she now kneels,
closer, closer now.

No.
Not him.

She is assured.

The phantom dogs stop barking,
ghosts stifle their phantasmal howls.
The sword is raised, the edge poised down,
the wind through spirits growls.

Not him.
Please not him.

“You die for your crime, in accordance to law,”
the king says with smile.
Ashes curl in crevices of his black crown,
and his teeth rot grey and vile.

She has made
no crime.

But in this court?
She will lie.

For him.

The boy steps forward, pushes past ghosts,
kicks at the hounds that snarl.
“Innocent!” he declares of her,
“With me you have your quarrel!”

Stop.
Stop now.

The ghost king laughs. The ghost king heaves.
He coughs up soot and ash.
“This girl is sent to death for you,
and yet you still rehash the past?”

She loves
him.

But she doesn’t
want this.

“She is sentenced for her crime,” the ghost king says.
“She will die as is set by the law.”
She watches the boy as he draws closer still,
the words catching in his throat and his jaw.

He is
scared.

“Take my life, if you must,” she says standing up,
her arms spread in front of the boy.
“Take everything I own, my heart and my soul,
but don’t take the boy that I love.”

Don’t take
him.

The sword raised and poised, so close to her heart
lusting after her blood and her pain,
but if she can save him, if his life might be spared,
she will take whatever may come her way.

She cannot
survive without him.

She closes her eyes, and feels herself spill,
hot tears streaming tracks down her cheeks.
She feels herself fall to the ground with a thud,
and she feels the cool sting of the breeze.

It is cold.
She is cold.

She feels his hands fumble, closing fingers over wounds
as he tries to stop the blood in its tracks.
She feels herself weaken, but stronger somehow.
She feels herself seep through the cracks.

She loves
him.

She feels her bitter sorrow washing away
with what feels like the rain from the sky.
She feels the surprise in her audience before her,
she feels the weight of all the ghost eyes.

She is
fading.

She feels the chains on her wrists and ankles
turn to ash and then wither away.
She hears the boy’s screams, distant and mournful,
as he begs desperately that she stay.

But she
has faded.

And she loves him.

So it’s okay.

Alright, alright. I know this is exceedingly long. I began with the thought to have about four stanzas. I thought I could get the story out in that amount of time, but apparently not. And there’s not really a huge moral to the story short of self-sacrifice. This was again, just another one of my strange dreams. Strangely enough, I was one of the ghost people, looking on as a girl who looked suspiciously like me was sentenced to death for a crime that the love of her life committed. Because she loved him, she (of course) took the penalty to protect him (isn’t that what you do for someone you love), but he wouldn’t allow it without a fight.

I really should see someone about these dreams…

When the Moon Shines Again

Standard

When the stars reached down in pieces left of ocean,
when the moon thought, “maybe I won’t shine this night.”

When the sun touched fires pandering the solemn,
to a graveyard lost in angel-blessing’s eyes.

When the spoken word left nothing in a memory,
and the swollen skies left tears for the unknown.

When the holy clouds opened up but shed no sorrow,
and the seeds of generations were never sewn.

Perhaps the God that you had dreamt of felt no pity,
for a beggar on his knees who prayed with scorn.

To the shadows of a world you left in tatters,
protected you from every other single storm.

And yet the stolen respiration you’d been searching,
spent no remorse when you asked yet again for more.

And the ravens that you called the end of your enchantment,
pecked and pleaded, “won’t you please open your door.”

When you refused all the light you had been given,
and told yourself that you would still be less than lost.

When you realized that nothing else could save your soul, dear,
when was it that you took in what it had cost?

And my God, I swear, He might see fit to forgive you,
for all the charity that you have paid yourself.

But I find myself less likely to release your blame,
because I only asked your smile and nothing less.

When you destroyed all the things I felt near and dear to,
and then you mentioned that it hadn’t been your fault.

I spent my nights wondering how to hurt you,
and all my days suffocating my resolve.

When the sky fell and the earth you burned before you,
was nothing more than ashes, burning to the ground.

Did you ever wonder if you might have an addiction,
to the poisons you set every time you turned around?

I might ask that maybe when I pass you on the corner,
that you avert your eyes and stare down at your feet.

But you don’t deserve the recognition that might grant you,
nor the pleasure of knowing that you destroyed me.

So when you rise to the Gates and Peter passes judgment,
and when God gives you your list of all your sin.

You might understand the gravity of your situation,
and all of the people that you hurt when you win.

And when the moon begins to shine for no other reason,
and the sun lets go of messages unknown.

And there is suddenly a beam of Heaven in the clouds again,
I’ll know, in my heart, that’s when you will be gone.

This began as basically a letter to no one in particular, but as I continued writing, I began thinking of everyone who had hurt me. It became about them and all of the pent-up anger I had never told any of them about (being somewhat of a passifist…). Then it transformed again from the people I hate to people who hate in general.

It evolved into a poem about intolerance, and the idea that no one who hates will ever do any good in this world. It became about the Holocaust and about human rights. It became about freedom and love, and spreading the love around. The message switched from hating your enemies to loving everyone just as they are. Talk about an oxymoron.

But it’s the truth. The world would be a better place if no one spread the poison of hate around. If people just allowed others to live their lives, and peace became the norm. But hey, I’m an optimist.

I guess I’m supposed to think that way.