Disclaimer: I WANT ARIEL! ARRRRRR! *throws specter over her shoulder and runs off with her... or tries, before men in black uniforms come and take Ariel back* BUT I DON'T OWN HER! ARRR! *heads back to ship to plunder another day....*
Memorial
She had seen the dawn,
remembered how every hand-picked ray
graced the sky like fine-laid feathers
the way sugar might fall on a whisker
and how, at the center of the world,
there had been possibility.
To be afraid, and young.
The name of a god had slipped around her tongue
but she could not name him,
not standing where pillars held up the sky
and she
was the music
She
was the name of salvation
a mother of the balance.
How did the song go?
Again it is on the tip of her tongue.
The new world is kept crypt-like
Varnished every day with a new coating of silence
flattened, crushed.
She imagines even the roses bleed now
and when the east wearily rises,
defeated and in perpetual slow-rising slumber,
it greets her with the wary familiarity
of distant relatives.
There is no more possibility in the sunlight
skinned and subdued by the time
it has fought through the ashes.
She is left to know what it has become
how it has become old yet ageless,
the same tasteless misery served century by century.
Her name had been Ariel
who had been quiet and glorious
like foam at the crest of a tsunami.
How she sang the world content!
How much she had felt,
the sheer enormity of youth and hope! And
how much had quieted
into a ballad that no one sings,
a child's toy for a baby long passed.
Memorial
She had seen the dawn,
remembered how every hand-picked ray
graced the sky like fine-laid feathers
the way sugar might fall on a whisker
and how, at the center of the world,
there had been possibility.
To be afraid, and young.
The name of a god had slipped around her tongue
but she could not name him,
not standing where pillars held up the sky
and she
was the music
She
was the name of salvation
a mother of the balance.
How did the song go?
Again it is on the tip of her tongue.
The new world is kept crypt-like
Varnished every day with a new coating of silence
flattened, crushed.
She imagines even the roses bleed now
and when the east wearily rises,
defeated and in perpetual slow-rising slumber,
it greets her with the wary familiarity
of distant relatives.
There is no more possibility in the sunlight
skinned and subdued by the time
it has fought through the ashes.
She is left to know what it has become
how it has become old yet ageless,
the same tasteless misery served century by century.
Her name had been Ariel
who had been quiet and glorious
like foam at the crest of a tsunami.
How she sang the world content!
How much she had felt,
the sheer enormity of youth and hope! And
how much had quieted
into a ballad that no one sings,
a child's toy for a baby long passed.