Aura Thundera
deonii@yahoo.com
These characters aren't mine and I'm not making any profit off this.
~
I can hear the crowd outside-
They cheer their hero's wedding day.
Their jubilation is for his happiness,
Not mine-
For it ws my blade that thirsted
To taste his blood and spill
That liquid on the thirsty earth.
It was my lord, though! The man
Who once overruled us all-
Who commanded me to take
And leave my now-lover
To die on the cold hard ground.
My lover-
The man whom I will marry-
He is the hero of the people
And I am their hated enemy.
He loves me, yes, and cares not
About the past or what they may say.
But their joy still is only for him.
The crowd in the hall
Is much more quiet, but-
I hear the hiss of their whispers.
They are his friends: heroes
And leaders, all!
And there are also my friends
Down there; at least they speak
No ill word of me.
But they once were on the
Very fringes of law, once.
Last come the politicians,
Unwanted by either of us, but-
They had to be invited, lest
Their people see insult that
Their representative was left
From the hero's wedding day.
Marriage is for love, not-
These petty Senate squabbles.
If I had my way, they
Would be out in the street-crowd.
It is they who are muttering
Their twofaced comments-
The politicians are the whisperers!
It is they who say that I am
Not suitable for their hallowed hero!
Each would have my lover, husband
To marry his own daughter, for
In their words, their daughters are
Right-raised to honor the Republic-
As if saving it is not doing honor to it!
They would use their hero son in law
For their own political gain.
And I have seen those girls they raise-
Giddy, vacant fluff - contemptible!
They have no regard for love, only-
An eye for a politic marriage.
Each wants to be tied to his family.
If only he were no hero-I wish-
Our wedding day in a vine-shaded
Temple hall-in a circle of friends alone!
But wishes are wasted time, and things
Cannot be as I would have them.
I have walked two paths, one-
All shadowed and dark, the other
Shining and purer than anything
Those muttering hypocrites below
May ever, ever know, for my
Lover showed it to me in love!
I am better than them by far, above
Their petty squabbles which they
Imprinted on their "chaste" daughters.
I am better than they, better wife
Will I make to their hero! I have seen
Him reject those proper "maidens"-
They grabbed him by the cloak and
Cried that he was evil, because
He would not dance in their arms,
Their arms that seduced a hundred
Important and handsome men before him
They said that and more;
That I was a prostitute and concubine-
They lie like the dogs they are-I am
More virgin than they, for with
Every handsome man, they have
Committed thought-copulation, but
My mind stays on the task at hand,
It does not stray to the loins
Of the nearest good-looking man!
I dream of the man I will marry-
And I dream of the taste of his kiss.
They too dream of the man I will marry-
And they dream of his manhood.
They wish his bed to boast of-
They would have him only to say-
"Look at me, the hero is my husband
I bear his heirs in my body-
And you can't-" Selfish!
In course of my life I allowed men
To take my body, but raped was I
In soul! And that my love can forgive-
But a braggart I know he hates!
Perhaps I am too bitter and hard-
Against those who know no other way.
But I hate a hypocrite!
They claim chastity, but what is that
To a woman who sleeps with every man
And would so snare a hero?
My love, he taught me truth-
To be what I would wish to seem.
I am not so transparent as they-
And that frightens them, that
I am what I seem, a warrior
My husband to be is a warrior too-
I understand what is in his soul!
Can they understand a warrior?
Would they even bother to try?
No I think they would not!
All they want is appearance, a dazzling
Man, blonde and heroic, decorated with saber
And war-medals, all they see is his face.
He would not find happiness ever
In one of their arms, for they would
Laugh at the grievances of his soul
Thinking them but a silly joke, but I
Understand the reality of his troubles.
The music is starting, the whispers are hushed.
My love is in the Great Hall already.
The time draws near that I must face
The accusing stares of a hundred politicians.
They accuse me of stealing their hero
From their supposedly pure daughters, yes,
They think that yet I would murder him
In his marriage bed. But what is
An accusation to me? I have had thousands.
And none-or few-were ever true.
What have I to fear? I have done naught.
His sister is calling; I must go.