Wrath of the Unseen
Copyright: Les Misérables. Eponine can't take any more of love. Please review.
Amateur poetry - unrhyming. Rated PG. There is a bit of a spoof at the end. Drama.
I used to dream, when I was a naive fool,
My life makes me weep,
What does life have in store for one such as I?
I used to say that I loved my life,
Yet my strife increases day after day.
I used to love, yet what does it mean?
It is a demon hidden under sweet promise.
I always used to dream, yet dreams mean nothing.
You ignore my pain,
I lay here, wondering,
Am I always unnoticed by the eyes of love?
You dream of her, yet I dream of you.
Should I just quit while I am still living?
Watch as I, a vermin, dwell in regret. . .
For the highest impossibility.
Why did I waste what my wretched life held,
Just being so forlorn over what I could not have?
I should not spend so much of my life on you,
Not like you shall know,
But each time you say "Send this to Cosette,"
I just feel like dying.
You make my life so difficult,
Burdening me with your petty love,
While I have better things to do.
Why must I be nothing more to you than
An unnoticed, beaten servant.
That is right - to you I am a servant; an errand girl; a slave.
They all mean the same thing.
They all have the same consequences.
They all have the same sadness and regret.
I grow weary of your false praise.
You destroy my heart with just one look.
How many beatings can one girl take,
Both emotionally and physically?
It is bad enough that I have lost a home,
Now you beat me even more, just by making me lose what remains of hope.
Marius, you blind, lovesick boy,
I shall never love again.
Why must I waste my life on what can never be true?
Wishful thinkers are wasting their lives.
This is the wrath of the unseen,
You wonder what I really think,
Yet I shall not tell you, for you would just be offended.
Hate does not get me anywhere,
Yet it dwells inside me like a disease.
God forbid that I should ever love again.
Love is a violent, relentless assault on innocents,
Tearing their lives apart, and they decide to just keep killing.
You see more wasted lives spent in love than in a beggar's misfortune.
Love is worth nothing, it decides to keep the victim's hopes strong,
Yet to be put down again by the blind one who loves another.
I warn all young lovers to leave their infatuations,
To regain their senses, to recover their true lives from the debris.
Love is not at all what people think it to be.
Marius will never see, what's the point?
Nobody notices, nobody mourns, nobody helps the gutter rat.
I have retreated on the final attack,
I shall not lay down and die. . .
Love is what causes the wrath of the unseen.
But as a final favor for the blind lover,
I shall aid you for the final time in liberty's rage.
I told you so that I knew my way around.
You never listened to my words.
There are many things that I know.
I told you I knew my way around.
I speak the truth, do not listen to love,
If you ignore me, you will rue this day.
I regret the foolishness that I wrought upon myself,
Why did I spend my life weeping?
I regret it, for now I am dying. . .
I hear a voice speaking to me.
I respond - it is Monsieur Marius.
The boy does not know it is I, who has served him.
I shall reply to him.
Do you fret, Monsieur Marius?
Do you feel any pain?
Must I die for your gain?
Yes, go on. . .To Cosette.
You know, I have not left you yet.
Look at me, look what I've got.
All of your bleeding fault.
Why must you mock my hardships so?
(He replies in regret:)
"Why speak that way, 'Ponine?
You know you'll live!
It's you I should have seen. . .
Now, God forgive. . ."
(I shall reassure him, I shall comfort him,
And have him resume in his battle with hope.
He shall not know the truth of what I speak.)
Just give me air - and have no fear.
But your sweat - my wound it sears.
~*~
The fool finally discovers the wound.
He is shaken, he insists that he is the one who caused this.
Love's folly has destroyed me.
It is too late for me. . .
I wasted my life on loving him,
And now my life will end because of my foolishness.
Before I can stop myself, I tell him lies. . .
It was not your fault. It was my mistake.
Do not be upset for me,
Go fight your battles. . .You have already. . .
Felt the wrath of the unseen. . .
Copyright: Les Misérables. Eponine can't take any more of love. Please review.
Amateur poetry - unrhyming. Rated PG. There is a bit of a spoof at the end. Drama.
I used to dream, when I was a naive fool,
My life makes me weep,
What does life have in store for one such as I?
I used to say that I loved my life,
Yet my strife increases day after day.
I used to love, yet what does it mean?
It is a demon hidden under sweet promise.
I always used to dream, yet dreams mean nothing.
You ignore my pain,
I lay here, wondering,
Am I always unnoticed by the eyes of love?
You dream of her, yet I dream of you.
Should I just quit while I am still living?
Watch as I, a vermin, dwell in regret. . .
For the highest impossibility.
Why did I waste what my wretched life held,
Just being so forlorn over what I could not have?
I should not spend so much of my life on you,
Not like you shall know,
But each time you say "Send this to Cosette,"
I just feel like dying.
You make my life so difficult,
Burdening me with your petty love,
While I have better things to do.
Why must I be nothing more to you than
An unnoticed, beaten servant.
That is right - to you I am a servant; an errand girl; a slave.
They all mean the same thing.
They all have the same consequences.
They all have the same sadness and regret.
I grow weary of your false praise.
You destroy my heart with just one look.
How many beatings can one girl take,
Both emotionally and physically?
It is bad enough that I have lost a home,
Now you beat me even more, just by making me lose what remains of hope.
Marius, you blind, lovesick boy,
I shall never love again.
Why must I waste my life on what can never be true?
Wishful thinkers are wasting their lives.
This is the wrath of the unseen,
You wonder what I really think,
Yet I shall not tell you, for you would just be offended.
Hate does not get me anywhere,
Yet it dwells inside me like a disease.
God forbid that I should ever love again.
Love is a violent, relentless assault on innocents,
Tearing their lives apart, and they decide to just keep killing.
You see more wasted lives spent in love than in a beggar's misfortune.
Love is worth nothing, it decides to keep the victim's hopes strong,
Yet to be put down again by the blind one who loves another.
I warn all young lovers to leave their infatuations,
To regain their senses, to recover their true lives from the debris.
Love is not at all what people think it to be.
Marius will never see, what's the point?
Nobody notices, nobody mourns, nobody helps the gutter rat.
I have retreated on the final attack,
I shall not lay down and die. . .
Love is what causes the wrath of the unseen.
But as a final favor for the blind lover,
I shall aid you for the final time in liberty's rage.
I told you so that I knew my way around.
You never listened to my words.
There are many things that I know.
I told you I knew my way around.
I speak the truth, do not listen to love,
If you ignore me, you will rue this day.
I regret the foolishness that I wrought upon myself,
Why did I spend my life weeping?
I regret it, for now I am dying. . .
I hear a voice speaking to me.
I respond - it is Monsieur Marius.
The boy does not know it is I, who has served him.
I shall reply to him.
Do you fret, Monsieur Marius?
Do you feel any pain?
Must I die for your gain?
Yes, go on. . .To Cosette.
You know, I have not left you yet.
Look at me, look what I've got.
All of your bleeding fault.
Why must you mock my hardships so?
(He replies in regret:)
"Why speak that way, 'Ponine?
You know you'll live!
It's you I should have seen. . .
Now, God forgive. . ."
(I shall reassure him, I shall comfort him,
And have him resume in his battle with hope.
He shall not know the truth of what I speak.)
Just give me air - and have no fear.
But your sweat - my wound it sears.
~*~
The fool finally discovers the wound.
He is shaken, he insists that he is the one who caused this.
Love's folly has destroyed me.
It is too late for me. . .
I wasted my life on loving him,
And now my life will end because of my foolishness.
Before I can stop myself, I tell him lies. . .
It was not your fault. It was my mistake.
Do not be upset for me,
Go fight your battles. . .You have already. . .
Felt the wrath of the unseen. . .