Disclaimer: Spring Awakening: not mine. Hence the pining and the whining.
Notes: So basically, I was bored. I had a pencil and loose leaf. This came. If the reviews are good (or even existent), I'm going to make this a collection. If not… well, it depends on how often I get bored and have loose leaf.
In the one, we're starting with an ending- yes, "Don't Do Sadness/Blue Wind," for Moritz and Ilse lovers like myself. I do seem to kill him off in quite a few of my fics… This one's an epic- to be fair, it did go with the longest song. The rhythm isn't quite steady, but the rhymes and syllables all work, and I'm not a professional poet anyway. Reading it aloud slowly helps. So… here it is:
Note Two: The direct thoughts are in italics, and the stuff being said aloud is in quotes. Since Moritz is angsting to himself, his song portion is considered narration whereas I'm putting Ilse's in quotes, since she's trying to convince him but ends up sounding merely nostalgic. When Ilse and Moritz's thoughts collide, Ilse's will be in quotes- maybe she's saying them offstage. Also, I don't know what you'd call the format I use on this poem (ABAC;DEDC), so if anyone knows, I'd appreciate it if you included that in a review. Or PM me. Oh, and the spacing got messed up from Word to the site. Basically, the stanza break is every eight lines, after the period- and now it's not letting me center it either, hopefully that's just a glitch in the system...
SO DARK
So awful sweet, if he could be
A little butterfly
Just winging high, aloof, carefree
No worries deep inside;
To sing a song that's so gentle,
So free of thoughts and dreams
That turn awakened men mental,
Just flowing with the tide.
Or summer wind upon the breeze,
To be that free of thought!
Knowing but naught, just mindless ease,
One quick pass through, then on;
For anyone or anything
Could handle this but he,
Left so alone to angst and sing,
Pass time before he's gone.
He simply can't and won't handle;
He knows the time has come.
Blue wind blows the altar candle,
The sadness in his soul;
"I just can't do this thing, sadness,
This itch I can't control!"
He won't outgrow this teen madness,
He'll always stay a foal.
Then ringing out and rushing in,
Calling, "Moritz Stiefel?"
Unchased by men and void of gin,
Always unselfconscious;
"Ilse?" he says, his beating heart,
Thumping ever faster.
"Why frighten me, and break apart
Sessions with my conscience?"
"What are you looking for, Moritz?"
Solace, he yearns to say,
And peace and love, instead he grits,
"I really do not know;"
She doesn't know the pain, she can't,
The dark he knew so well,
The wishes none could ever grant,
The sticky dreams and woe.
And furthermore, unwittingly,
She lays on him as well
The deeds of men, said kiddingly,
Yet things she'd never tell;
The horrors, oh! "Is he alive?"
But Ilse can't be sure,
Left waiting if he should arrive,
That man with soul from Hell.
Of how she wanders, day by day,
Not knowing where or when
She may find food, a place to stay,
A haven yet again;
But she can handle, for she stands
Before him, offering,
"Come with me, Moritz: let's hold hands.
Remember way back then?
"When we'd play pirates, you and I,
And Melchi, Wendla too?
As endless, numbered days passed by,
When we'd sail on with ease?;
Spring and summer, coming, calling
Through the open meadow
Blue wind whirling, mourning, falling,
In gentle summer breeze.
"Where Melchi, standing tall and lean,
Plays the charming captain,
And Wendla is the fairy queen,
The purest gem of heart;
And me, I'd be a wild thing!
Amazon or captive,
And you, the mate, just lingering,
For any open part.
"Just listening to summer wind
As it floats high and blue,
Forgetting how you lusted, sinned,
Or acted ever dumber;
A time to be just as we are,
The children on the grass,
Hopeful, pained, it travels far,
Through the spring and summer."
In her eyes, the fleeting sorrow
Gathered finally shatters,
Breaking way to new tomorrow
With summer's finest glow;
Wishing it was him- if only-
The boy drowns in his pain,
Croaking now, and ever lonely,
"I really have to go."
"Just walk me home, please, once again!"
The summer maiden pleads.
"I'll curl your hair, just like back then,
This time, though, you'll let me;"
He wants to shout, Back where? Back when?
That was so long ago.
I can't go back. Back where? Back when?
Before this agony.
The part that longed to just be heard
That didn't like to shout
That yearned to say that single word,
Admit and just say, yes;
Was shadowed by that stubborn itch,
The lust, then urge to run,
He could not treat her like a bitch,
A prize sewn in a dress.
"I can't," he states, though as to what
He meant, he has no clue.
He has no shield, he has no gut,
Why can't he just say yes?;
"Parallelepipedon!" he explains,
"Virgil! Hapsburg! Essays!"
Any excuse to hide his pains,
His secret willingness.
So maybe he should be some kind
Of hanging laundry line
Just hang him, knot him in a bind
And leave him out to dry;
To bask in their sun, try to see
The future folded up
But tottering unstably,
Just trying not to cry.
The spirits now, they'll set him free
To fly among the wind,
To exit in ecstasy, he
Sails up, above, apart;
Unhindered by those summer winds,
Or dreams, desires, doubts,
Just going, going, he rescinds
All ties to home and heart.
His angst so loud, he cannot hear
Ilse's silver calling.
She's limitless, she has no fear,
Declarations collide;
There's no mistake, the failures weigh,
He does not do sadness.
"Spring and summer, each, every day,
Just flowing with wind's tide!"
He doesn't need it in his life,
He's done his time with it.
"No need for worry, pain, or strife.
Blue wind blows it away;"
Just numbly watching his life pass,
Blows, it blows his mind.
"Those textbooks open on the grass,
The wind through corn and hay."
He won't do sadness; he's been there.
"Through the snow, pain, woe, rain-"
He'll leave this sadness; he won't care.
"Always spring and summer;"
As the echoing calls subside,
Words, or word of body?
The boy's heart sinks, for he has lied,
And now the world seems glummer.
He's lied, and he will lie again
For he cannot lie to
Himself, he can't act like those men
He knows he can't take truth;
He looks to Ilse, full of hope,
And he fills of despair
Soon, no more need to fake, to cope,
Cower before his youth.
"I'm sorry, Ilse," Moritz states,
Feeling oddly cruel.
Beyond horizon, darkness waits,
Waits to devour his soul;
No pleasure found in his half tries
To shove some pain on her,
He simply presses on with lies,
To slowly cease control.
"I've work to do, please understand-"
It isn't you, it's me…
Nothing has gone as I have planned
"I simply have to go;"
He simply had to go, he knew,
When he went there, no dark,
Not anymore, he'd see what's true:
It's all just one big show.
"If you say so," the young girl pouts,
Thinking life sailed too fast,
So full of coming, falling outs
And rude awakening;
Soon she'd be all alone again,
Alone to face the dark,
To swallow all her sorrows, then
Walk on, awake in spring.
"Before you even notice me,
Or wonder where I am,
In some trash heap, that's where I'll be,
Forever sailing on!;"
Her spiteful cries touch him too late
As Ilse breaks away.
Could it be helped, or was it fate?
No matter how, she's gone.
He simply couldn't reach her hand
From the cliff he dangled.
He's falling, and she's left to stand.
He wonders, Will she grieve?;
His fingers couldn't stick like theirs,
So used to touches, dreams.
He's had enough of those nightmares,
Enough! He has to leave.
Before you even notice me,
How much time will have passed?
An angel, that's what I will be,
Forever sailing on;
The thoughts exist but in his head,
All the unheard yearnings
Run loose, regret waits in their stead
Once the echoes are gone:
"Moritz, can't you hear my yearning?
If only you were here.
See beyond, instead I'm learning,
I speak to just one ear;"
Overwhelmed by endless yearning,
If only I could hear,
See beyond the fires, burning,
I'm trapped in constant fear.
A pity, such a wasted chance,
But better that she's gone.
A pony, then, he'll watch it prance
And dress it up in lace;
Black, shiny silk, then watch it dance,
A mirror above his bed,
He'd force it on its knees and hands,
Helpless daughter of grace.
And when they'd talk of lust, he'd smile,
Just in this fantasy.
Yes, he shall laugh, and all the while,
Inside, his soul will scream;
Scream to be that child of woe,
To live like that! Like her!
To always come but never go,
So trapped inside their dream!
Unselfconscious, used to terror,
Haunted, daunted, wanted,
Gun on breast, no room for error-
Submit, the dark I know!;
Pretend he acted like those men
Whose lives will surpass his,
Those men who come again, again,
The dark, so dark, oh, OH!
Played pirates under summer sky,
I got drunk in the snow.
I'll be an angel, flying high,
With wings- now I'm ready;
He'll be those men on distant ships,
Women sailing with him,
Bare kisses wishing on their lips,
Vessel staying steady.
He's come here without knowing it,
The tapers by the bank.
He'll watch the water pass and sit-
It's slow as molten led;
In his mind, his brains are hanging
From the willow branches,
A holey head, holy banging,
The tapers now stained red.
He won't forget- he can't forget
And he doesn't wish to.
Why taint those years with blind regret?
Remember, remember;
Wigwams with Tomahawks buried,
Cowbells, Latin, pirates,
Laughing, rafting, getting "married,"
Alive, valued member.
He lights the match, watches it burn-
Too absurd, empty words,
Ashes, death- now there's no return:
Remember, remember!;
Look!- In and out and roundabout!
Souls, ghosts, sparks- shooting stars!
The letter crumples, it's died out,
Vanished but one ember.
Before the flames, horizon showed,
The rushes and a line,
But winter's come with ashes snowed,
So far from summer's vow;
The night has come, its shadowed hand
Waits for the final light.
The boy looks down, he shudders and
Shan't go home again now.
No light, no home, one hue, one touch-
Touch me, silver magic
Whispers softly from his dark clutch.
His aim won't miss its mark;
His fingers squeeze the fatal gun.
Set me free, angels, ghosts.
One echoed bang, then there were none,
Just dark, so dark, SO…!
…dark…
This totally ruins the effect. Anyway, needless to say, I worked REALLY hard on this, so I would really appreciate reviews of any kind- tips on improvement, a detailed description of why you hated it… or even if you loved it.
I'd also like to dedicate this to anyone who has known and lost someone like Moritz, and to the Moritz's of our world- may your Ilse save you.