Spare this innocent soul.

I held the sides of the sink tight, as if not to let it fall.

My eyelids heavy with the burn of reliving the story.

Playing back the reel. Knowing greater its metaphor.

 

He sat there, numb where he did not feel pain.

His arm crippled and his hand torn in two,

Held limp by his chest. Bloodied face and spit that ran.

Yet his strings were mercilessly kept taught,

With medication to keep him from falling forever free.

And with knifes, hammers, pliers and cutters,

To keep him forever on his knees.

The dark ones circled around in their twisted joy.

Talk they said they’d have from him. And have it they did.

With hell, they dug into him, and in it, drowned him.

Held his head underneath the watery poison.

Until air was the only plea left, and he cried:

 

I broke.

I gave in.

I am to blame.

I have done wrong.

I am weak.

I am not strong.

I put my loved ones,

In risk of death’s hand.

Oh god,

I tried not to.

But alas I have.

I broke.

I am weak.

I am not strong.

I am to blame.

 

I looked into my mirrored gaze above the faucet.

Red eyed and again too easily alive.

I knew it too well; his tormentors and his torture.

How I would have taken a gun to their heads to

Spare this innocent soul – from hating itself.

How I longed to sit down next to him,

Take him in my arms and whisper:

 

You love.

You endure.

You are not to blame.

You have done no wrong.

You are not weak.

You are strong.

You did all that you could.

To protect the ones you love.

Oh god,

You withstood pain immense.

Longer than one ever should.

You love.

You are not weak.

You are strong.

Oh god,

You have done no wrong.

 

And at once Metaphor revieled the greater picture:

That such evil games are not always played by human hands.

But by fate and cruelties of life that toil our minds.

Sparing no innocent souls - from hating themselves.

How I long to sit down next to her,

Take her in my arms and whisper her to ease.

But instead I'm left only to stare fate in the face and plead:

 

Don’t hurt her.

You’ll meet her,

She’s very pretty.

Even though sometimes she’s sad,

For many days at a time,

You’ll see,

When she smiles,

You'll love her.

 

Author's Note

*metaphors and descriptions inspired by the movie: Pan's Labyrinth.

Reviews

[Emily B]

oh, wow. . . I felt like I was in a labyrinth of nightmares. . . the pain and the fear and the menace were palpable. I could almost feel the hot breath of the tormentor.

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

I love that movie.. the poem is beautiful.. i like how you used the metaphors and descriptions as you did and the last line..' you'll see when she smiles you'll love her'..

Chloe
xoxo