The girl who never spoke a word
died along the road one day.
A sparrow flitted about
anxious yet eager to tell her tale to any who gave her corpse a passing glance.
It was deep winter thus the cold preserved her pretty little face and lithe body.
Many passed her by in the course of several days.
Lawyers and doctors.
Dreamers and poets.
Mourners and parishioners.
Knights and kings.
Sorcerers and specters.
Clergy and scholars.
But none bothered to look beyond the glistening snow banks.
The tiny bird's heart nearly broke
so he flew out one day to a young man with a straggly beard.
"Sir, sir do you care to hear the story of the dead?"
But the man merely swatted him away and carried on down the path.
And so the sparrow did this again but instead to a lady with elegant ribbons strewn through her hair.
"Madam, miss? Will you listen to a frighteningly lovely story rivaling all of the past?"
And she stared down at the little winged creature tears pooling before she rushed away.
The bird exhausted slept under a willow tree not far from she who no longer breathed.
Presently a woman no older than twenty noticed the corpse and its guardian and went to them.
Tell me are you listening?
Tell me can you hear my heart?
For this is for the broken
the ones who feel their hearts are breaking
watch as the melody dies
watch as the angels fall
watch as the demons consume the fire from within the flame
where the heavens cry.
And the answer came from the tiny little bird deep in slumber:
December Star was her name
pretty as a June bug in May.
She was a dancer for the king who proclaimed:
"I want the girl with the laughing smile and grinning eyes.
I want the one whose willing to look to the sky and weave a tale with me of how the world came to be.
Oh the stars will glare in jealousy shining ever so brighter than before.
But darling it makes your hair a light as if you were some celestial being so it's all the more worth it to me.
I want the girl whose willing to run to the rain to feel the cooling autumn or the warmth of dying spring and coming summer.
But its all a fantasy and I can't love a figment"
She a village girl from the east
where ice and snow grew all year
as if their exotic plant
every traveler knew to be wary in such a land
with long chestnet tresses that shielded ocean eyes from prying beings
she seemed extra oridinary
she cooked with her Mother
hearty breads made from wheat of far off realms and lean fish seasoned with laughter from the days of hard labor
prayed with her father upon a splintery bench while the priest could be heard faintly chortling in the back
bathed the little ones in a rusty bucket in the middle of their shared room
but then slipped away out into the night
singing with the stars a lullaby only dreamers know
she danced when the wind blew
who tended to her father's fishing nets
she was the closest to what he desired.
Divine without divinity.
Sensual without lust.
Innocence without chastity.
She could play with water
lulling spirals of foam to wrap around her
like trinkets hanging in front of a window bathed in the glint of the sun
calling to the waves to serenade the boulders near the shore on which she nimbly stood
as if an angel or perhaps demon
maybe even a witch or sorceress
calling her familiars known as her penguin friends to join her
truly a gift from above or perhaps just one born with luck
and in this a strange new dance was born
the sentries who kept her company on their breaks gazed in uncertainty
as she sat playing in the fountains of the outdoor gardens
towering statues of long dead royalty surround her as she plunged into fantasy
the rivulets of water swirled around
the gentle drops grazed the king's face as he went about his morning rounds
and he was ever so pleased
with the newest girl in his harem
so he bejewelled her
chains of soft gold inset with fiery sapphires hung from her
the clothes adorning her tiny body were light and loose so as not to weigh her down as she began her symphony
the king gave her the best room in which to dance
and indoor garden with a large pool in which she could prance
she was ever so happy.
The darling of the king.
Beauty without vanity.
Laughter without mockery.
She daren't make it be known
because of the King who had treated her so
the dancer who loved water
who grown up on bread and prayers
not delicacies and lies
fell in love with the youngest of the brides.
Oh but fickle jealousy perchance fell upon this loveliness.
And it all fell apart
she was lured away with a siren's call
the King who never lost favor in this angel with torn wings who only truly flew when she danced
his brides planned to do away with she who took his favor.
All was torn asunder.
She was the one that paid the price of heaven and hell
cried tears of blood and fell upon this road.
Hear the call:
"It's just a dream!"
Then why is blood pooling beneath my feet?
"It's just a joke."
I can't understand the beating.
The marred flesh.
The grinning girl weeping.
While scarlet dances to an unknown rhythm.
Will you love me fast?
Will you love me slow?
Will you love thee drifting through a waterfall?
grasping toward a lover's hand
horror entering their eyes
they see the vastness of yours slowly cave in as the wounded soul recedes into you
they see the whispered prayers that your flesh moans
the wholeness of you leaving
as you writhe
agony like a wine drunk too fast seeping through your bones
then rest your head as your eyes begin to glaze
and exhaustion consumes
tearing at you to divide your soul
to say good bye to all you love
ado to the moon and a teary whisper to the sun
as the stars watch you forget your passions
as all sees youth conquered and submits to the hooded man and the grains of sand foretelling doom.
Clattering of metal greeting marble is all that can be heard
where two bloody pieces of flesh lay side by side
like trophies of some great hunter if not so obvious the five toes on each stump
the bone protruding masked the horror of the one they were taken from
weeping filled the air
two convulsing on the floor
and one laughing maniacally in the corner
while all realize the truth of what has been done.
The stars moaning until morning
the sun rising blood red
and yet this was not enough for Death to be known to the land.
I'm like a bird going far away.
Don't look for me.
For dear you never find me
there's a clamor echoing and I must follow it until the end.
Watch the flit of my wings and the trail of stars will whisper my good byes.
Here's a truth truer that true.
I'm far more human than you'll ever know.
A painted grin is quite easy to adorn but true laughter rings sweeter.
I live like a dancer or marionette but at times my strings need to be mended or my legs need rest.
So I sit on the marble stair case leading life from this level to the next.
Oh how it winds!
Will you ever find me between the colors and swirls or will our paths never cross?
I am not who you think I am.
I am not the stars or the heavens.
What are you then?
I am the shadows lacing myself around corners.
Masking my face from the moon and the sun.
I am not what you want.
Lest you provoke those who haunt me in alleys and in bars.
For we have killed innocence this very night
cut off her legs and laughed as she wept
danced in morbid glee
as his majesty gazed around his court in melancholy amazement that he could not find she he so doted upon
she who lay bleeding along side a well worn path
she who Marie so loved only to betray in a moment of jealousy
she who will never know the perennials of living
she who was just an innocent compared to us rabid foxes who cornered this lively dancer.
I am the reason why the sun the moon and the stars stay where they are because all they needed was a new friend to stay the rest of their days.
I saw a star one day glowing coldly as I clasped it in frozen hands.
The intertwining fingers leaking precious light across the chilled wasteland glinting off glazed surfaces.
All hidden within the wind as a traveler wanders down an unknown path.
The fickle king never noticed his darling gone for long
found another fancy among those he had
the wives never any wiser than the day they shown up in court smeared in scarlet
the stranger on the road and the little sparrow buried her in a hut
off they went to hide from the cruelty of a king's love.
Her soul finally free and Death gently guiding her to the place she was meant to be.
A dancer in a higher court.
So this is a "prize" for JMaciuszek and her Water dancer: [link] (Uh yeah table has nothing to do with the poem it just wanted a preview image again xD) Also when I say the girl who never spoke was singing or calling someone I meant she was using sign language as communication instead of actually talking/singing/calling. I tried also combining different view points in later stanzas which was different for me . I hope J enjoys this.
amazing. though sometimes hard to follow, once read through, it really was a joy to read. Written in almost an older style, reminiscent of Dickinson or even Shakespeare. Very sad, definitely a tale of horror. Speaks specifically of one girl, but probably speaks of so many who have been collected and then tossed away. Well done.
WOW! O_O This is amazing!!! You really didn't have to do this but Thank you so much!
I'm really glad you liked it. Your very welcome dear I just thought your drawing was lovely~