I have to believe
That every cold hard heart has its day
To soul sigh in lamentation of the things
That heart has pushed away
The thing I wanted most
Just was "not meant to be"
Cliche crime against the heart
Bedtime story tragedy
Turns to nightmares in my sleep
A revelation travesty
The wall around the heart
Each brick carefully placed
Each pinhole ray of hopeful light
Blackened with precision purpose
To protect, the wall is built
A slow death
Suffocation of the heart
Like a frog that never leaves
A gently boiled pot
And does not notice
What it has been denied
Well-intentioned fortress
Turned icy lonely tomb
No one's fault, they say
Heart could no longer see the light
Anyway
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Scapegoat
For the men that don't love themselves
As much as they are loved
I will bow my head for you,
Bare my slender neck,
Say a last little prayer
That no one will hear.
I will fill my lungs
One last time
With the dying breath
That was yours to breathe.
I will not cry a single tear
Nor beg for the mercy you deserve;
I will bravely await the blade
That was meant for you.
And when my head drops
Onto the bare wood below,
And as the guillotine rises,
Red with wasted innocent life,
My soul will not regret.
I will wear your scarlet letter
Brazenly upon my chest,
Never disputing the crime
That I did not commit.
My glance will never rise,
Acknowledging your shame;
My words will not betray
The guiltless nature of my being.
Taunts, jeers, insults and slander
Aimed at me will not miss their mark,
Nor will a word to defend
Ever escape my lips.
No, I will not dispute your crime
Displayed upon my dress;
I will not lament disgraceful
Misdirected solitude.
And when my shameful grave is dug,
And my family name stricken from the Book,
And my children's bastardized lives
Become wives' tales of old,
My soul will not regret.
I will let them pierce my skin,
Close my eyes to the hammer
As it pounds each nail into my limbs,
Sigh and slowly reflect
On the life I lived in love
And will not cry out
When someone stabs my side,
Even though it was you
Who should have died.
I will embrace the sun's rays
As they beat upon my battered skin
And I will not betray the lie
That keeps me on the cross –
And when my last breath is breathed,
And I have condemned no one,
And no tears of self loathing
Or self pity, or repentance
On my own behalf have fallen,
When my exhausted body
Exhausts its last heartbeat –
My soul will not regret.
No, I will never regret
What I have done for you.
As much as they are loved
I will bow my head for you,
Bare my slender neck,
Say a last little prayer
That no one will hear.
I will fill my lungs
One last time
With the dying breath
That was yours to breathe.
I will not cry a single tear
Nor beg for the mercy you deserve;
I will bravely await the blade
That was meant for you.
And when my head drops
Onto the bare wood below,
And as the guillotine rises,
Red with wasted innocent life,
My soul will not regret.
I will wear your scarlet letter
Brazenly upon my chest,
Never disputing the crime
That I did not commit.
My glance will never rise,
Acknowledging your shame;
My words will not betray
The guiltless nature of my being.
Taunts, jeers, insults and slander
Aimed at me will not miss their mark,
Nor will a word to defend
Ever escape my lips.
No, I will not dispute your crime
Displayed upon my dress;
I will not lament disgraceful
Misdirected solitude.
And when my shameful grave is dug,
And my family name stricken from the Book,
And my children's bastardized lives
Become wives' tales of old,
My soul will not regret.
I will let them pierce my skin,
Close my eyes to the hammer
As it pounds each nail into my limbs,
Sigh and slowly reflect
On the life I lived in love
And will not cry out
When someone stabs my side,
Even though it was you
Who should have died.
I will embrace the sun's rays
As they beat upon my battered skin
And I will not betray the lie
That keeps me on the cross –
And when my last breath is breathed,
And I have condemned no one,
And no tears of self loathing
Or self pity, or repentance
On my own behalf have fallen,
When my exhausted body
Exhausts its last heartbeat –
My soul will not regret.
No, I will never regret
What I have done for you.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Muted
Like a condemned river only flowing when the Sun's warming eyes are turned away
Or an ocean whose tide will not turn in the presence of the Moon;
The damned creek turns stagnant while the drying lake hungers . . .
Is it because the Sun is so demanding of the water?
The river cries to flow, loves to flow, fights to move along.
Is Moon so cold that the waves' crashing must still?
The waters beg to break upon the shore, implore the sands to pull them up!
Is the damn so coarse, so unyielding so as to choke the brooks' kind babble?
The fragile waters live to feed the lake, cry out to serve their love . . .
The purest desire of the waters is to quench, to feed, to form the Earth
They miss their younger days, when rock and air and shore alike welcomed their cool touch,
When Earth's arms opened wide, the Sun's love nurtured the rippling, pristine surface
When Moon's kind pulls were playful tugs, gentle suggestions of serenity . . .
The rivers' path too many times has been cut off; brutal violent amputation of its life force
Has killed its trusting flow,
Has dried its faithful beds,
Has quieted is passion; its power dormant in a muted soul.
Ocean's strength was once matched only by her beauty,
Her mercy rang out as predictable tides glorying the sunsets,
Sparkling for the Moon,
She once danced, and took lovers, and championed the Earth . . .
But sickness has torn her apart, heated her cool composure, weakened her strength,
She hesitates to break upon the shore, refuses to hold safe the treasures of Man.
She rages silently at the pollution of her soul, thirsting for a better part of herself.
The child-creek, keeper of creatures and critters and embodiment of trust
Has been damned up, forced into stale oblivion,
Starved of playful bubbling along the countryside,
Terrified to carve another unsure path along the crumbling mountainside,
She huddles alone inside herself for warmth, wishing for more innocent days.
She cannot remember how to laugh.
No fault of the loving, ever-endearing Earth, or passionate Sun, or wise and watchful Moon
Their patient vigil is soft encouragement to the disenchanted waters,
Igniting in them a flame, a grim memory of life.
With time, perhaps, the river will remember how to flow
With warm attentions, healing words, with Father Time's merciful movement
Perhaps a wave will dance upon the shore again.
Perhaps one day a child may stumble upon a laughing creek,
And perhaps She will carry child's sticks and leaves upon her back, playing once again.
So shine on, precious, sacred Sun,
Lead and guide and gently urge the tide to awaken from its muted slumber,
Patient Moon.
And, solid, loyal, enduring Earth,Remind the streams that you are there – embrace them,
Decorate them once again with your bounty . . .
Reminding water of her resilience
Will be the greatest love
In time
Or an ocean whose tide will not turn in the presence of the Moon;
The damned creek turns stagnant while the drying lake hungers . . .
Is it because the Sun is so demanding of the water?
The river cries to flow, loves to flow, fights to move along.
Is Moon so cold that the waves' crashing must still?
The waters beg to break upon the shore, implore the sands to pull them up!
Is the damn so coarse, so unyielding so as to choke the brooks' kind babble?
The fragile waters live to feed the lake, cry out to serve their love . . .
The purest desire of the waters is to quench, to feed, to form the Earth
They miss their younger days, when rock and air and shore alike welcomed their cool touch,
When Earth's arms opened wide, the Sun's love nurtured the rippling, pristine surface
When Moon's kind pulls were playful tugs, gentle suggestions of serenity . . .
The rivers' path too many times has been cut off; brutal violent amputation of its life force
Has killed its trusting flow,
Has dried its faithful beds,
Has quieted is passion; its power dormant in a muted soul.
Ocean's strength was once matched only by her beauty,
Her mercy rang out as predictable tides glorying the sunsets,
Sparkling for the Moon,
She once danced, and took lovers, and championed the Earth . . .
But sickness has torn her apart, heated her cool composure, weakened her strength,
She hesitates to break upon the shore, refuses to hold safe the treasures of Man.
She rages silently at the pollution of her soul, thirsting for a better part of herself.
The child-creek, keeper of creatures and critters and embodiment of trust
Has been damned up, forced into stale oblivion,
Starved of playful bubbling along the countryside,
Terrified to carve another unsure path along the crumbling mountainside,
She huddles alone inside herself for warmth, wishing for more innocent days.
She cannot remember how to laugh.
No fault of the loving, ever-endearing Earth, or passionate Sun, or wise and watchful Moon
Their patient vigil is soft encouragement to the disenchanted waters,
Igniting in them a flame, a grim memory of life.
With time, perhaps, the river will remember how to flow
With warm attentions, healing words, with Father Time's merciful movement
Perhaps a wave will dance upon the shore again.
Perhaps one day a child may stumble upon a laughing creek,
And perhaps She will carry child's sticks and leaves upon her back, playing once again.
So shine on, precious, sacred Sun,
Lead and guide and gently urge the tide to awaken from its muted slumber,
Patient Moon.
And, solid, loyal, enduring Earth,Remind the streams that you are there – embrace them,
Decorate them once again with your bounty . . .
Reminding water of her resilience
Will be the greatest love
In time
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
When Oblivion Wins
She loves him best; he loves her last
Mornings are his saving grace:
She lightly stirs awake, and feels his body next her hers
Cuddles close, breathes him in
Closes her eyes and loves him silently, powerfully
Smiles softly to herself before gently, quietly entering the world.
Before the mirror, her reflection reminds her of the day before
She poses at herself – fat? a few unsightly pounds could be lost – she'll need to work on that
She scowls at herself – ugly?
And artfully applies her mask – there's only so much she can do.
There's only so much she can hide.
Cautious, now, she enters the room where he still slumbers.
Scrutinizing her wardrobe – too tight, I'll look chubby, too loose, I'll look frumpy, too old, he's seen it before . . .
She resigns herself to something mediocre
He sleeps, but she worries he'll wake, worries he'll see her
Vulnerable, naked, in a state of half-dress and half-heart and half-light
And so she hurries to hide herself with listless garments
Finished, he stirs and peers at her through tired, half-closed eyes
And the eyes pierce her soul, melt her heart in her early-morning unprotected state
She goes to him, cuddles close, kisses his lips, his eyes, his face
Says goodbye, walks away
He smiles, comforted by her warmth, and sleeps.
A love song plays as she turns onto the long, forgiving highway
She thinks of him, remembers his kisses, his scent, his smile
And she hurts, remembering the days before.
Today will be different
Today I'll make him understand, today he will let me give myself to him.
He loves me, I know he does . . .
I know it hurts too badly when I'm upset . . .
Be patient, be kind
Let it go, she tells herself, the battle's been lost
You love him, she reminds herself as she remembers his warmth
Be patient, be kind
Smiling for sanity, she starts her day
A daze, her mind busier than her words let on
She stares ahead too long, she could kick herself when the question rings out
What's wrong? they'll say
Oh, nothing, I'm sick, or tired, or just zoning out, she'll say
They pester on, you sure? you seem like something's wrong, they say
I'm sure! she snaps, and smiles, and asks if that is better
Assured, they leave and go about their day
Leaving her alone inside her head
Outside the cars begin to slow, clogging the highway below
It's late, it's time, another day has come and gone
She sighs, slowly, sadly, she makes her way
Another face in the crowd.
A love song plays as she slowly merges, and she turns the dial seeking something else
But he's already in her head, and every song is written for them
And, by now, she's so exhausted, she's so confused, she's so deep inside of herself
Her dark sunglasses hide the tears well, and the music's so loud she can't hear her shaking breath
And there's nothing like the solid highway to console a damaged heart . . .
Pull yourself together, it's not that bad, she begs herself
You'll be home soon, stop the tears
Check your make-up, now, you don't need awkward questions
You don't have an answer to.
She approaches the front door, a sense of disappointment already sets in –
She knows what she will find.
The scent of freshly smoked bud meets her nostrils as she nears the basement common room
Well, at least I can get high today, she reminds herself, although it's little comfort.
She sees him, her heart stops, halfway between breaking and singing
Back to her as the others in the room shout greetings her way
She barely acknowledges them, holding her breath as he turns in her direction
He smiles, glances back at the smokescreen behind him, and stands
Places a light kiss upon her lips
She glances past his loving eyes with mutinous contempt
Places a light kiss upon his lips
Turns, leaves for bedroom solitude.
Be patient, be kind . . .
She calms herself, perusing her closet once again
No need for painstaking dress this time; she knows she'll soon be listless and alone in the midst of a bustling living room.
Another evening passes by
He sits, back mostly turned away
From her, from their world
She stays close by, casting glances his direction, hoping each moment that he'll notice her,
Deluding herself to believe that things will change
She silently begs him to put down the trigger, to tear his eyes from his mistress
And to come to her
Day's energy gone from her
No reason left to constitute consciousness
Rises slowly, eyes cast down, ashamed of her disappointment
Be patient, be kind
He tears his eyes from her antithesis to briefly acknowledge her exodus
Stands, places a light kiss upon her lips . . .
Say something! love me! take me into your arms and make me yours!
All she can utter, "come say goodnight?"
A question, posed with great effort and directed at the floor
She holds her breath, her heart stops – what a silly question, just walk away . . .
Be patient, be kind
Follows her to their room, impatient to get back to his other love
But he loves her, too, and so he humors her bedtime request
Watches as she quickly undresses
Waits quietly as she climbs into their bed
Leans over her, smiles, places a light kiss upon her lips
"Goodnight" is all he says, kindly, before he turns away
Wait! I'm scared, alone, I'm cold . . .
I need you . . . I love you . . .
"Goodnight," she whispers to the darkness
As he sinks back into his familiar chair, no intention of returning to her
Exhausting himself in the arms of another
Sneaks into bed beside her, his second love, an eternity later and falls into a peaceful slumber.
Mornings are his saving grace
Mornings are his saving grace:
She lightly stirs awake, and feels his body next her hers
Cuddles close, breathes him in
Closes her eyes and loves him silently, powerfully
Smiles softly to herself before gently, quietly entering the world.
Before the mirror, her reflection reminds her of the day before
She poses at herself – fat? a few unsightly pounds could be lost – she'll need to work on that
She scowls at herself – ugly?
And artfully applies her mask – there's only so much she can do.
There's only so much she can hide.
Cautious, now, she enters the room where he still slumbers.
Scrutinizing her wardrobe – too tight, I'll look chubby, too loose, I'll look frumpy, too old, he's seen it before . . .
She resigns herself to something mediocre
He sleeps, but she worries he'll wake, worries he'll see her
Vulnerable, naked, in a state of half-dress and half-heart and half-light
And so she hurries to hide herself with listless garments
Finished, he stirs and peers at her through tired, half-closed eyes
And the eyes pierce her soul, melt her heart in her early-morning unprotected state
She goes to him, cuddles close, kisses his lips, his eyes, his face
Says goodbye, walks away
He smiles, comforted by her warmth, and sleeps.
A love song plays as she turns onto the long, forgiving highway
She thinks of him, remembers his kisses, his scent, his smile
And she hurts, remembering the days before.
Today will be different
Today I'll make him understand, today he will let me give myself to him.
He loves me, I know he does . . .
I know it hurts too badly when I'm upset . . .
Be patient, be kind
Let it go, she tells herself, the battle's been lost
You love him, she reminds herself as she remembers his warmth
Be patient, be kind
Smiling for sanity, she starts her day
A daze, her mind busier than her words let on
She stares ahead too long, she could kick herself when the question rings out
What's wrong? they'll say
Oh, nothing, I'm sick, or tired, or just zoning out, she'll say
They pester on, you sure? you seem like something's wrong, they say
I'm sure! she snaps, and smiles, and asks if that is better
Assured, they leave and go about their day
Leaving her alone inside her head
Outside the cars begin to slow, clogging the highway below
It's late, it's time, another day has come and gone
She sighs, slowly, sadly, she makes her way
Another face in the crowd.
A love song plays as she slowly merges, and she turns the dial seeking something else
But he's already in her head, and every song is written for them
And, by now, she's so exhausted, she's so confused, she's so deep inside of herself
Her dark sunglasses hide the tears well, and the music's so loud she can't hear her shaking breath
And there's nothing like the solid highway to console a damaged heart . . .
Pull yourself together, it's not that bad, she begs herself
You'll be home soon, stop the tears
Check your make-up, now, you don't need awkward questions
You don't have an answer to.
She approaches the front door, a sense of disappointment already sets in –
She knows what she will find.
The scent of freshly smoked bud meets her nostrils as she nears the basement common room
Well, at least I can get high today, she reminds herself, although it's little comfort.
She sees him, her heart stops, halfway between breaking and singing
Back to her as the others in the room shout greetings her way
She barely acknowledges them, holding her breath as he turns in her direction
He smiles, glances back at the smokescreen behind him, and stands
Places a light kiss upon her lips
She glances past his loving eyes with mutinous contempt
Places a light kiss upon his lips
Turns, leaves for bedroom solitude.
Be patient, be kind . . .
She calms herself, perusing her closet once again
No need for painstaking dress this time; she knows she'll soon be listless and alone in the midst of a bustling living room.
Another evening passes by
He sits, back mostly turned away
From her, from their world
She stays close by, casting glances his direction, hoping each moment that he'll notice her,
Deluding herself to believe that things will change
She silently begs him to put down the trigger, to tear his eyes from his mistress
And to come to her
Day's energy gone from her
No reason left to constitute consciousness
Rises slowly, eyes cast down, ashamed of her disappointment
Be patient, be kind
He tears his eyes from her antithesis to briefly acknowledge her exodus
Stands, places a light kiss upon her lips . . .
Say something! love me! take me into your arms and make me yours!
All she can utter, "come say goodnight?"
A question, posed with great effort and directed at the floor
She holds her breath, her heart stops – what a silly question, just walk away . . .
Be patient, be kind
Follows her to their room, impatient to get back to his other love
But he loves her, too, and so he humors her bedtime request
Watches as she quickly undresses
Waits quietly as she climbs into their bed
Leans over her, smiles, places a light kiss upon her lips
"Goodnight" is all he says, kindly, before he turns away
Wait! I'm scared, alone, I'm cold . . .
I need you . . . I love you . . .
"Goodnight," she whispers to the darkness
As he sinks back into his familiar chair, no intention of returning to her
Exhausting himself in the arms of another
Sneaks into bed beside her, his second love, an eternity later and falls into a peaceful slumber.
Mornings are his saving grace
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Sister
In dedication to the kindest, most beautiful young woman most people will ever meet. Happy sweet sixteen, little one - remember who you are and be proud.
I love you
Shining, laughing, screaming
Your entrance into the world
Is something to be proud of.
Big blue eyes and laughing cheeks
Shone through your girlhood
As you breathed in giggles
And spoke of white innocence
Belied by fiery temper
Feisty little fists and fearless feet
A worthy young adversary -
You kept me sharp, made me quick
Kindness born of unconditional love
Blonde halo hair - sun kissed cheeks
Stole somebody's strawberry soda lips
With cherry button laughing nose
Gave little girl a surprising beauty -
You kept me sharp, made me quick
New years' maturity left thoughts of selfishness behind -
Shared candy, cups, kisses, teddies, and heart
Batted no graceful lash at "mine"
Often nudity-displayed disregard for what was yours
Precious child, you kept me sharp!
Blink! I glanced away and you were grown
Age-blooming wisdom, patience, humility
Generosity - heart exposed as milky baby bottom's legacy
Shining star, Mother Theresa, a Robin Hood fairy tale of joy
Little angel, little queen, you brought me hope
Through now shining eyes I peer with wonder
Young woman before me, tapped talent, humble beauty, sage mind
I fell behind, lost pace, stalled somewhere selfish
Awoke, opened my eyes, saw that far from leading you,
I stood near the shadow of your baby blues
So proud, speechless, amazed
Your progression tapestry of love
Journey through cold world, warm words your sword
Graceful woman legs carry strong soul, hope-wielding ambition
Young lady's guide to freedom
Taste - heart, soul, love, laughter, life
Another year lived and loved -
Something to be proud of.
Young woman, lovely child of my heart's memory,
You've kept me proud
Given me hope
I live to watch you grow.
I love you
Shining, laughing, screaming
Your entrance into the world
Is something to be proud of.
Big blue eyes and laughing cheeks
Shone through your girlhood
As you breathed in giggles
And spoke of white innocence
Belied by fiery temper
Feisty little fists and fearless feet
A worthy young adversary -
You kept me sharp, made me quick
Kindness born of unconditional love
Blonde halo hair - sun kissed cheeks
Stole somebody's strawberry soda lips
With cherry button laughing nose
Gave little girl a surprising beauty -
You kept me sharp, made me quick
New years' maturity left thoughts of selfishness behind -
Shared candy, cups, kisses, teddies, and heart
Batted no graceful lash at "mine"
Often nudity-displayed disregard for what was yours
Precious child, you kept me sharp!
Blink! I glanced away and you were grown
Age-blooming wisdom, patience, humility
Generosity - heart exposed as milky baby bottom's legacy
Shining star, Mother Theresa, a Robin Hood fairy tale of joy
Little angel, little queen, you brought me hope
Through now shining eyes I peer with wonder
Young woman before me, tapped talent, humble beauty, sage mind
I fell behind, lost pace, stalled somewhere selfish
Awoke, opened my eyes, saw that far from leading you,
I stood near the shadow of your baby blues
So proud, speechless, amazed
Your progression tapestry of love
Journey through cold world, warm words your sword
Graceful woman legs carry strong soul, hope-wielding ambition
Young lady's guide to freedom
Taste - heart, soul, love, laughter, life
Another year lived and loved -
Something to be proud of.
Young woman, lovely child of my heart's memory,
You've kept me proud
Given me hope
I live to watch you grow.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Music Box
Father Fate gave to me a box, and went on his way.
Father Fate was, as is his custom, vague with his instructions, and I had no idea when he would be coming to take back the box. Fearing I would grow fond of the toy, I placed it out of sight and out of mind to watch over until fate needed it again.
Time, as is its custom, wore on and the box was still right there, waiting to be explored. I picked it up, felt its weight; it was worth more than I originally thought. I traced my inexperienced fingers along the woodwork, noting each beautiful marking and each unique feature as my fingers described them to me. I thought that surely this was the most well-made, most simply beautiful box I had ever seen.
The box was so beautiful and so strong, and I am always so unsure when Fate comes around; why couldn't he just tell me what to do with this, or if it was an amazing gift for me?!
I played with the box now and again, growing more curious by the day. Was it to look at, to be passed along, to be played with? Was I supposed to give it another, or had fate meant for me to cherish it?
Before long, I had to start exploring for real; the wood looked durable enough for an investigation! It took time, I started asking other people about the box and what it was worth, whether they thought it was meant for me or what the deal was.
And then I knew. The box was ready to be opened the entire time and I just had to open my ears for fate's whisper: I opened the box, ever so gently, to hear the most beautiful, calming, hopeful music in the world. I opened further to see the source of the song that I know I will remember forever and I saw that it was a magic music box.
From inside of this box came a sound of joy like the squeal of a child seeing grandpa after too long.
Inside of this box there was a lower song, one I had to reach so deeply within myself to understand, to even hear, and it was the greatest song ever sung. It was the low, slow, soft voice of love and of permanence, and of commitment. It sang of beauty far beyond this lifetime and comfort for the rest of my time here.
The box taught me so many things about myself: loyalty,love, commitment. The box held my tears and with gentle loving music built me a fortress in which to hide from the cruel world. It became my everything, and I believed in it and cherished it and sang songs in exaltation of my precious, loving, magic box that fate had left for me so long ago.
And then some other dark, Father Fate's eraser of joy, came to me while I was away from my music box. He came to me in my head, in my sleep, in my mind and heart and soul where only I should be. He came to hurt and he came to destroy and he came to take my darling source of joy away from me!
I fought this evil, I fought this drainer of my soul, I fought with all that I had and I failed. I was not strong enough to keep fate's only gift to me safe from evil. I failed myself, I failed the Truths like Honor and Loyalty and Integrity. I slaughtered kindness as I shattered the box across the cold, hard stone. I watched as the beautiful facade crumbled to pieces, I watched as my hero fell right open, spilling out his love for me, draining like the blood of a half-man. I heard a whisper of a song . . .
It might have been in my head; it probably was. But, in my shame, in my exile, I will try to remember the music at least; it is the lethargic blood forcing itself through my weary veins and willing yet another pathetic pump of my heart.
If the story is ever told, is ever passed on to a cold hearted or lonely person, I have no ending.
Both Pandora and I took a risk; mine for love and hers for power. In the end her pride killed her and ruined the world . . . In the end a Holocaust remains of a beautiful relationship, and a shell remains of the goodness that has seeped from my heart; this time Fate didn't need to take back his precious gift: I destroyed it for him.
Father Fate was, as is his custom, vague with his instructions, and I had no idea when he would be coming to take back the box. Fearing I would grow fond of the toy, I placed it out of sight and out of mind to watch over until fate needed it again.
Time, as is its custom, wore on and the box was still right there, waiting to be explored. I picked it up, felt its weight; it was worth more than I originally thought. I traced my inexperienced fingers along the woodwork, noting each beautiful marking and each unique feature as my fingers described them to me. I thought that surely this was the most well-made, most simply beautiful box I had ever seen.
The box was so beautiful and so strong, and I am always so unsure when Fate comes around; why couldn't he just tell me what to do with this, or if it was an amazing gift for me?!
I played with the box now and again, growing more curious by the day. Was it to look at, to be passed along, to be played with? Was I supposed to give it another, or had fate meant for me to cherish it?
Before long, I had to start exploring for real; the wood looked durable enough for an investigation! It took time, I started asking other people about the box and what it was worth, whether they thought it was meant for me or what the deal was.
And then I knew. The box was ready to be opened the entire time and I just had to open my ears for fate's whisper: I opened the box, ever so gently, to hear the most beautiful, calming, hopeful music in the world. I opened further to see the source of the song that I know I will remember forever and I saw that it was a magic music box.
From inside of this box came a sound of joy like the squeal of a child seeing grandpa after too long.
Inside of this box there was a lower song, one I had to reach so deeply within myself to understand, to even hear, and it was the greatest song ever sung. It was the low, slow, soft voice of love and of permanence, and of commitment. It sang of beauty far beyond this lifetime and comfort for the rest of my time here.
The box taught me so many things about myself: loyalty,love, commitment. The box held my tears and with gentle loving music built me a fortress in which to hide from the cruel world. It became my everything, and I believed in it and cherished it and sang songs in exaltation of my precious, loving, magic box that fate had left for me so long ago.
And then some other dark, Father Fate's eraser of joy, came to me while I was away from my music box. He came to me in my head, in my sleep, in my mind and heart and soul where only I should be. He came to hurt and he came to destroy and he came to take my darling source of joy away from me!
I fought this evil, I fought this drainer of my soul, I fought with all that I had and I failed. I was not strong enough to keep fate's only gift to me safe from evil. I failed myself, I failed the Truths like Honor and Loyalty and Integrity. I slaughtered kindness as I shattered the box across the cold, hard stone. I watched as the beautiful facade crumbled to pieces, I watched as my hero fell right open, spilling out his love for me, draining like the blood of a half-man. I heard a whisper of a song . . .
It might have been in my head; it probably was. But, in my shame, in my exile, I will try to remember the music at least; it is the lethargic blood forcing itself through my weary veins and willing yet another pathetic pump of my heart.
If the story is ever told, is ever passed on to a cold hearted or lonely person, I have no ending.
Both Pandora and I took a risk; mine for love and hers for power. In the end her pride killed her and ruined the world . . . In the end a Holocaust remains of a beautiful relationship, and a shell remains of the goodness that has seeped from my heart; this time Fate didn't need to take back his precious gift: I destroyed it for him.
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