Part 1

Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes... just be an illusion. -Javan

I sit here in my keep
and wait for him to come.
I do not know if he is coming,
but I wait here nonetheless.

I am not the princess of fairytale fame;
I have not
grace
nor charm
nor astounding beauty to tempt
and lure my prince.
I look around my ruined keep, and I see
no reason
he should come.

But still I wait.

In my dreams I can see him.
His face, his features, his voice
escape me,
but I know the flavor of his soul.
It calls to me even when I hold my head and hide in shame.
It coaxes me out of my grief and despair.
It tempts me to believe in the light,
even though there is no light here.

When I dream of him,
I feel warm.
I feel loved.
I feel wanted, and special, and beautiful.
He will come to me and tell me that I am.
I am all of that.

My hunger for approval will be fed, tamed
into submission and allow room for more delicate feelings.
Feelings like naïveté, innocence.
Feelings I cannot comprehend now;
feelings I only yearn for when I dream of him.

No matter when I see him, no matter who I am:
the beautiful betrayed princess;
the quiet humble peasant-girl;
the daring independent thief;
the brave trustworthy soldier;
he always reacts the same way.
I become his air, his breath, his life.

I am needed.

Not useless, purposeless, hopeless.
I have a raison d’être.
Him.
But still, in my dreams,
I am never me.
I am not the girl in my dreams.

The real me is much less.

In my dreams my face is softer.
I am poised and elegant no matter my situation.
I can be chained to a wall in a prison, and I am elegant.
I am modest.  I never say the wrong thing, unless it is the right.

Waking is painful.

I rise from my bed,
sometimes too cold to stay still,
sometimes too hot to stay down,
and look out my window.

My keep stands isolated from the rest of society.
It is unreachable by mere mortals,
un-scalable by lowly knights,
unattainable by the average man.
Women do not even know it exists.
Most men don’t know either.

It is too well hidden behind the brambles and thorns I have cultivated.

Occasionally one will think he sees something.
He will take up his sword and begin a steady assault on the keep defenses.
Very few make it past the thorns and brambles.
They are too long undisturbed to be easily passed;
too long carefully tended to be easily uprooted.

Their mistress does not want them removed, and thus they stay.

 

Author's Note

No particular structure or rhythm (that's why it's a prose poem). I hate getting raked over the coals by someone who doesn't understand this allegory, so DO NOT COMMENT ON THE ALLEGORY.

Reviews

[dark and twisty]

Interesting work. Just a bit confused cos i didn't get any allegory from it. Would like to know what you had in mind when you wrote this piece of work.

All i got was the desire and loneliness and despite the protagonist's ability to keep herself estranged from the rest of the world despite her own inherent wants.

[nightmask]

wait r u a girl? (o.O)

[Alex R.]

what's the allegory? i think you mean metaphor. but it's a good poem.