The Lady

That is my lady hanging from the wall, looking

As if she were still alive, it is truly a marvel – the

Artist laboured seven days and seven nights without

Sleep before she was finished. Do you care to look

Upon her? You are honoured, her days pass now

Cloaked by a curtain only I have permission to

Draw away. It would simply not do to allow the

Entire world to behold her. Her smile? Indeed.

It is truly a lovely sight, is it not? It was for her

Regret that it was not I who drew out such joy

From her lips. I still recall when it was newly

Finished – I considered the view the artist

Had known her in life, fancy of course but

When I cared to listen I heard his voice pandering

Sweetly to her vanity, praising the flush in her cheeks

And the shine in her eyes. She was too easily

Gladdened by such trivialities - too taken by

Whatever flights of fantasy skimmed past.

She admired all she was shown, was merciful

To all, even the most undeserving parasites she

Could have ever hoped to attract. It is madness

(Yet alongside the absurdity truth) to consider

How such a girl, such a pathetic, anonymous

Nothing could shun my generosity so effortlessly.

The capering of fools appealed more to her than

Elevation above the stars – inane jabbering was more

Valued by her than the coaxing lilt of my own voice.

There were times I could have shaken her, shook her

Till her teeth rattled and she sobbed frantically for my

Mercy, there were other times I could have blinded all

Others in the world so no one else was able to see her.

But I chose never to loose myself to the rage, never

Bowed to her ludicrous, malformed image of me in her

Children's stories and her ghastly misshapen dreams.

It is true she was cordial towards me, well-mannered and in

No sense unpleasant to my person yet she was the same

To many. Her respect was as common as the dirt and she

Saw not the slightest need to extend her courtesy further

In my presence. A time came when she displayed me no

Courtesy at all. A time came when she ceased to see me

As anything other than a cackling, goading, pretender

– When she saw me as nothing more than words on a page.

I gave the command, and the smiles took little time to stop.

But still, such matters are past us now – and here she stands,

The champion is stood loftily above us both, is silent and still

For me. I ask that you leave us now; there remain matters

To be settled between I and my lady, there needs now to be

A time when I allow her to only smile upon me.

A/N. If anyone here is familiar with Robert Browning they may have clicked that this is an attempt to emulate a poem by him called 'My Last Duchess'. It's an excellent poem and probably the only one I can genuinely say I like from the few I've read (or in most cases, been made to.)

If anyone here is confused over the meaning it equates to that in the original poem – it's all about being in control and possession, although compared to the original narrator the one here (aka. Jareth) is hugely sentimental.

There is a fair bit of poetry on here, often of the 'Jareth/Sarah pining for each other' variety, not that it's bad, much of it is good, I just wanted to do something different so I went for as far out as I could get and drummed down a dramatic monologue.

Thanks for Nienna Telrunya for reading this through for me, and especially for telling me it was interesting, I really wasn't going to post this but I thought I'd take the plunge.

Reviews/general feedback are very much appreciated.