Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or its characters.
AN: Just a quick note...Lately, I've had the idea of writing
something to one of Edgar A. Poe's poems and I really love the last for
lines of this one. Anyway, I sat down today and wanted to write a
little on my new and (hopefully) improved 'not-anymore-Pedigree
Assassin' story and came up with this. I intended the narrator to be
one of the pilots, but other than that you can pretty much choose who
you want it to be. Well, hope it's not too weird and hope some people
might enjoy it. Elithil
The Valley of Unrest
They
wave :—from out their fragrant tops
Eternal
dews come down in drops.
I see them. I watch them as they stand so near that the slightest stumbling would make them fall right on top of the bed of flowers.
But even as they gaze into their own eyes, mirrored in the dark stone, they look so…so strong. We always were the rocks to lean on for each other. People always told us that they thought nothing could bring us down. Apparently that isn't true at all.
I watch them from where I stand behind the stone. Each of them has a single white lily in their hands, which are pressed to their chests. So solemn. Every so often wistful smiles would flitter across their faces. So melancholy.
A light drizzle starts to fall, but it doesn't seem as if they notice. Gradually their hair starts to get wet, drops start to form on their faces, rolling down their cheeks and falling upon the glowing white lilies.
A light breeze moves their hair and their lilies sway lightly, waving gently, spilling small drops of water one by one over their soft petals.
My hair does not get wet. My hair remains unruffled.
They
weep :—from off their delicate stems
Perennial
tears descend in gems.
Very gently they lay there lilies down one bye one. They lay them so that their stems cross each other.
The blossoms gleam against emerald grass and still tiny, sparkling droplets slide down their petals and stems.
And still they stand solemnly next to each other, watching water run down the engraved, black lilies entwining around the black, nameless stone. All around the stone and the patch of green grass before it, tiny violets sprout. I imagine their fragrance mixing with that of the lilies, the fresh air and the cool rain.
I look into their eyes as they stand before me, but they don't look back.
They don't cry. They – we – used our tears up in our early childhoods. I didn't find them again, but maybe they will come back to them. I couldn't, but maybe they will be able to rid themselves of their stubborn, seeming indifference.
It's almost completely dark. I can't see the stars, but I know that there are the first ones already twinkling on the velvety sky behind the dark clouds.
As they do every time they come visit me, they turn their faces up towards the sky, silently asking the stars to watch over the flowers, to watch over me.
They turn around and walk away without another look in my direction.
But I know they will come back. And I smile.
The Valley of Unrest
Edgar Allan Poe
-
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell ;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides !
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave !
They wave :—from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep :—from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
