Eternally Yours (heroic crown of sonnets)

For those of you who knew about this...thanks for your patience. For those who didn't...this is where much of my creative energy has gone for the past 10 months.

Strolling, wistful, through a thousand lives,
across the chasmed centuries gone past,
he calls her name; it never quite arrives
to fall upon her ear.  Just at the last,
she leaves the hall, or shutters windows closed.
The fading echoes rebound, fall, despair
upon the careless earth, alone who knows
how many times he's haunted up her stairs
and stood before her door, unwilling hand
hung limply at his side. The heavy years
passed by them both again; he hadn't planned
that they would not meet. This chance disappears  
to speak the truth he knows she knows as well;
two ancient souls in broken bodies dwell.

Two ancient souls in broken bodies dwell,
a karmic double-helix twists through time.
They spiral 'round, attracted and repelled
by cosmic force, the space between defined
as two arms' lengths apart. Their fingertips
will brush by chance; the spark that generates
ignites the kindling lust, the heated lips
which speak the wildfire words of love. The fates
dictate the places, times where their paths cross;
circumstances, consequences feed
the choices made.  They've chosen fire, the loss
of reason, stoking starving naked need,
dance with abandon, passion, without pride;
they trip light-years fantastic side by side.

They trip light-years fantastic side by side.
The pas de deux began in ancient court
of some small city-state.  He is a knight
sent by his Queen, a diplomatic sort
of mission.  At a dinner hosted by
the local King, the knight, while taking in
who might be helpful or a hindrance spies
a shaken mane of gold, blue eyes within
her stunning face, struck slack with ennui
until she meets his eyes.  An eyebrow lifts,
a corner of her mouth curls up, unseen
by all save the old man beside.  He shifts,
and stands to pound his staff. The hall is still;
bound by an angered mage's curs'ed spell

Bound by an angered mage's curs'ed spell:
"Your burning gaze, Sir Knight...your smile, milass;
returned. You want each other?  Very well!
So mote it be; I'll have it come to pass.
She will be linked to you, eternally
yours, to have, to hold and never love;
to consummate and quench your lust will be
your death. And you shall lust, by Jove above!
I hereby mate your everlasting souls;
condemn you with a love like Hades' fires,
passion's heat incinerates you whole.
You'll take him, child, and kill him with desire.
You'll die for her; she'll bring you to her knees
across uncharted lands, bedragoned seas."

Across uncharted lands, bedragoned seas
uncounted years of wandering, he seeks
asylum from the memory of her eyes.
The softest skin, most gently blushing cheeks,
wildest fingers raking skin from back,
ever-changing hips which thrust and thrash;
the tavern wench, the courtesan, all lack
whatever power it would take to smash
his crushing need.  An aching pilgrimage,
life spent in shameless chase to slake the lust
imposed by jealous wizard in his rage.
Now weak and old, he walks alone through dust
and sandstorm, seeking solace, final rest
in desert's scalding carborundum breath

In desert's scalding carborundum breath
she oversees construction of her tomb.
Her father started it; upon his death,
she left the mage to build the solemn room
of memory. The waves of slaves pour sweat
in rivers onto stones, their muscles scream
and ripple in the undulating heat.
Mirage becomes a staggering man, unseen
by all but her. She mounts and rides to bring
some water, some relief.  When their eyes meet,
their souls enmesh, their spirits start to sing,
his failing body falls about her feet.
They're found again, and still there's no release; 
not even end of life can bring surcease.

Not even end of life can bring surcease;
she lived another twenty years beyond.
His final glance of longing gave no peace,
but chained her in the everlasting bond
of arcane condemnation. Her damned heart
is pierced by passing seconds, every one
a blunted needle, mildly poisoned dart
not strong enough to stop her pulse's run.
The mage's gift to her: the agony
of life remembering her lover's kiss,
then a death too short to set her free.
It sends her toward another fatal tryst,
spun round again the universe's width;
their love a measured minuet with death.

Their love a measured minuet with death,
a dance with destiny.  They wake again
to unfamiliar bodies, unknown paths
meandering across the haunted plain
of time.  A muddy pasture, half a million
blissful stoners join in raucous song:
"...and you make it hard". Among the hills run
junkie lovers who can do no wrong,
all sharing bodies, needles 'til the smack
runs out. Her shaking arms strapped 'cross his chest;
he huddles close, awaiting the next stack
of Methadone. He shivers; breathes his last.
She cries and rocks his body, they will spoon
throughout the summer's thundered afternoon.

Throughout the summer's thundered afternoon
as heavy clouds erupt on thirsty soil,
cooler air meets skin on fire, a boon
to Magdalene and lover.  The sweet oil
washes off, the rain obscures the sound
of marching feet.  Centurions approach
and snatch him from her side. "So now you're found
beside this one, whose last ride gave us such
an evil time.  We strung him up, but now
his body's gone, and you were seen beside
the tomb. You'll die just as he did, and how."
She watched another man be crucified.
Supported by her love, he passed in peace
suspended in expectant spring's embrace.

Suspended in expectant spring's embrace,
the royal courtyard at Versailles in bloom
is laid out for the party.  Every face
is rouged, each powdered wig precisely groomed.
The hundred soldiers stand down, raise a toast,
Vive le roi!  One teasing courtier
seduces a queen's guard to leave his post.
Behind a hedge, they make love unaware
of peasants, women milling through the gate
in search of bread and royal blood, not cake.
He runs to save the Queen, and seals his fate;
the mob will kill for revolution's sake.
The oaks a silent witness to his doom
in autumn colors, reds and golds festooned.

In autumn colors, reds and golds festooned,
the twin moons rise and set, reflecting sun
upon the biodomes.  Earth shines down, ruined
by man's neglect, what could not be undone.
The population by law zero sum;
resource conservation held above
the joy of new life.  Parents here must come
to know the anguish of requited love.
She bears his child; they knew too well the chance
they took.  The court will force a choice be made:
the father or the child. A tear, a glance
as he's locked out. She watches as he fades
in cryogenic punishment, life lashed
to winter's icy shackles holding fast.

To winter's icy shackles holding fast
her soul, she proffers prayer, slogs through the sleet
toward her cloistered cell.  One chilling blast
wraps habit 'round her, knocks her off her feet.
The heavy, sodden cloth, the wind prevents
her gaining purchase on the frozen ground.
From monastery cot, the monk could sense
distress.  In thin burnoose he dashed and found
her, cold as stone, yet breathing; swept her up
and rushed her to the hearth.  His warm embrace
brings on familiar heat.  Their pasts stirred up,
relived, decision made within a trace: 
"'Tis best this time we live, and never start."
Their minds attuned, yet cleft by broken heart.

Their minds attuned, yet cleft by broken heart;
the aching need grows stronger day by day.
He tends her failing health without regard
to duty, vows.  Her weak voice strains to say,
"I will be gone before you this time. Hear
me out; this may be what we need to break
our curse.  Stay with me as my time grows near;
and love me as the Reaper comes to take
my soul, and finish with me after I
have left.  God will forgive sins we'll commit
for man alone has damned us.  We must try
or curse ourselves, continue to submit
to endless pain, remain just as we are:
connected, blessed, and doomed to be apart."

Connected, blessed, and doomed to be apart,
they cling to every moment here and now;
the priceless beating of her failing heart,
his passions roil out in unending flow.
He gazes deep in her eternal eyes
as they glaze over, looking past his face
into the hollow stare of death.  She lies
suspended between life and time and space,
to hear an old, familiar voice sound in
her ears.  "To dance with death before him
as you rut...how clever!  Most astounding
that you'd carry out this futile whim.
He dies; you'll live, just as the curse defines;
strolling, wistful, through a thousand lives."

Strolling, wistful, through a thousand lives 
Two ancient souls in broken bodies dwell.
They trip light-years fantastic side by side
Bound by an angered mage's curs'ed spell.
Across uncharted lands, bedragoned seas,
In desert's scalding carborundum breath
Not even end of life can bring surcease;
Their love a measured minuet with death.
Throughout the summer's thundered afternoon,
Suspended in expectant spring's embrace,
In autumn colors, reds and golds festooned,
To winter's icy shackles holding fast;
Their minds attuned, yet cleft by broken heart:
Connected, blessed, and doomed to be apart.

Reviews

[Pete Langley]

The curse is recurring providential fate - that all of life is pre-ordained. Part of me - the deepest - holds this view.
It`s no solace, I know, mate. We all think we are masters of own destiny, but just when we think we have the nut cracked fate bites our butt (sorry about the mixed mets!)

This piece is almost Miltonian. It`s magnificent. The poignancy is pungent, the pathos potent. Every poet should read this more than once
I bow to your skill and insight. P.

[Joel M Frye]

Thankee kindly for wading through my attempt at epic poetry, Pete, and your more than kind words. I'm still pleased with this effort on the re-read.

[LA Lorena]

This is absolutely epic! A masterpiece my furry friend. Yes, it was long, but when one is spell-bound in words and imagery, the time passes quickly, and is wishing for it to never end. I admire your poetic triumph, and your hard work and long toil and determination to see this through. You shall wear the crown with this!

[Joel M Frye]

Grateful I am you took your time to read this, LA, and gladder still I am you enjoyed the time spent.

[Valentine]

This is so deep and sad and very well thought out and written..You are a deeper thinker than I realized..Katihe

[Joel M Frye]

Many peeps know me only by my haiku/senryu, Kathie...you're not alone. The praise means a great deal to me, coming from a novelist. Much of the grunt work here was trying to hold a plot together, more like writing a short story than sonnets.

[Valentine]

With novels, it is keeping track of all of the characters and leaving a part of them behind for the reader to grasp hold of..I used to also edit writing..

[Joel M Frye]

I had to keep it simple in terms of characterization. Writing dialogue has long been a weak point for me...otherwise, I'd be a playwright as well. LOL

[Leslie Philibert]

The first poem I have read from this writer, and a good one. At first I suspected a saga, perhaps in the style of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, but then I noticed that modern elements have been fused in, with junkies and methadone. So a good
idea well written, interesting, good job.

[Joel M Frye]

Kind of you to take the time and comment so graciously, Leslie.

[MOON]

Stunning , beautifully crafted write wonderfully executed , epic the desire for love of that special one cursed and doomed, yet soldiering on. Perfect.

[Joel M Frye]

Thank you most kindly, MOON.

[MOON]

Thanks Happy new year!

[Ken Simm.]

Perfectly written. Written by a troubadour for a medevial court.

[Joel M Frye]

Thank you kindly, Ken.

[FJ Davis]

Ten months to write; a few less, to read.
Absolutely magnificent, Joel!
Worth every second of the reading time.
It's my virtual library, for this virtual triumph.

[Joel M Frye]

I truly appreciate the time you've taken to read it, Frank, and your kind review. Thank you, good sir.

[Valentine]

A wonderful tale and one I did nmot see coming..wonderful write..god bless..Kathie

[Joel M Frye]

Thanks, Kathie...good to see you around again!

[...]

. i am in tears ... this epic tale takes me to so many moments in my own story that i just want to read these words over and over again ... and hope against hope ... how dare the universe do this to lovers who are meant to love ? ... i'll fight that universe ... and when i'm fighting it, i'll remember your epic words ... they empower me infinitely ... they inspire me infinitely ... maybe epic battles are needed for an epic love to survive ... to thrive ... maybe we need to transcend our human form ... and become god-like ... and change the universe ... and act like a god who has descended from heaven and will ensure justice ... i need to rescue my soul mate, monsieur joel ... dare i forget your words ... and not do what it takes to reverse all curses ... i don't know how i could possibly thank you for this overwhelming epic ... that finds its way straight to my heart ... and makes me want to be more than i am ... the last ten months of your life ... are precious to me ... so precious that i won't be able to thank you enough ever ... your words have arrived when i needed them ... when poets write, they don't know that there's someone out there who needs those words ... i feel like these were written just for me ... just to remind me of the task ahead ... just to remind me how much i need to stay focused ... just to remind me that if i know what happened in this epic tale ... then i know the demons i have to fight ... yes, there are many ... but i'll fight them all ...

[Joel M Frye]

So happy to hear that you're inspired by this, mlle. serah. I wasn't sure how universal the message might be, because it comes from personal conversations between myself and a couple of close poetic friends. I believe all happens for reasons that have nothing to do with personal intention. Happy I am that this spanned the universe between us to reach you at a time when you need inspiration. A thousand blessings to you and your journey, mademoiselle.

[Lily Mae]

I'm so use to not seeing you here I didn't notice you posted this here.. You know how my heart and soul is connected to this.. The journey alone in thought it mind blowing but it's the months of you sorting through each phase that is the masterpiece.. You know I how much I love this.. I read it in my library often..xo

[Joel M Frye]

The poem then is a success...it reached its intended audience. ;)

[.]

~ that day is not far when poets will control the advertisements on their profiles... you will be the richest... :)

[Joel M Frye]

Thanks to all who have taken the time to read. I truly appreciate it.