. the . ecstasy . of . fair . ophelia .
little bouquets of rosemary and pansies that she collected
among the butterfly gardens
"posies for thoughts of remembrance" she madly giggles
"i pray you remember me when i'm all the way gone"
her hidden little piece of sanity left whispers through her unshed tears
"'twill happen soon enough"
as she sings her songs of love or death or nothing whatsoever.
she runs through the rain with no mantle,
the cold makes her smile.
"it makes me remember what it was like to be sane"
the forgotten mind cries softly, like a butterfly's wings against her cheeks,
like the cold fine mists that people used to listen to.
singing, singing, running through the meadow, arms stretched out
to try to touch the fleeting beauty
of flowers, and the flying creatures that resemble them
"i wish i were free like you"
she screams to them,
although her words go un-heeded by the beauties
she comes to a gilded brook, its surface a mirror
on which the sky reflects, a willow, with its silver tears
fall into the mercury waters.
"will i see my true reflection?"
she asks the banks, "mirror, mirror on the wall…"
she blinks away the tears that will ne'er come.
daisies and columbines knit together with the nettles,
she laughs hysterically at the irony,
a chain of blooms and weeds.
"is that what i've become?"
her final gasps begging for her tears to fall,
for the butterflies to save her
she gathers up her skirts with a sudden determination
to climb the tree of tears.
and now she can't stop giggling, though she doesn't know why
she told you it would happen
but no one listens to butterflies or unshed tears;
they are but forgotten whispers now.
stringing garlands on this silver tree
she thinks of Christmas through the summer breeze;
she's suddenly shocked at her flight.
her fall… she's not an angel yet,
merely a butterfly
who's been refusing to let herself cry.
she breaks the mirror.
"seven years bad luck!" she crows as she surfaces
she's singing, singing, singing, singing…
she floats like a mermaid, like a butterfly,
like an autumn leaf perched on the edge of eternity
the flowers float around her and she feels them against her cheek.
the water finally gets the best of her,
and slowly drags her down,
sinking, sinking, down to drown alone.
her face is wet. is the water in the mercury mirror
now mingled with the tears of a tree,
or with the tears of a butterfly?
-x-end-x-
a/n- i'm fed up with formatting issues... grr. moving on, ophelia is awesome. i like hamlet : ) good story, bad english teacher, and extra time when i'm aiding go together to create this... yay! (btw, one of the footnotes in my book said that ecstasy means madness, so i used that...) thanks for reading! xoxo-xan