Title: I Want to Believe You
Author: a tattered rose
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Setting… not mine? Poem mine anyway.
Summary: No one can stop writing completely.
[While I try to figure out a relatively short feedback thingy, not composed entirely of Wow, wow, wow… This poem was inspired by Lisbeth's "Brown Eyes," (ch 9, Reunification, and is thus dedicated to her, whether she likes it or not ;]
[I'm posting it here so it doesn't get lost in the fan-poetry section.]
[Obviously, this is supposedly written by Dimitri. Actually, why don't I set up a framework, and make this an actual fanfic…]
~*~*~*
Each evening, Maria Brown, one of the school's janitors, emptied the teacher's trashcans. She was getting old, retiring soon, and preformed her job slowly, relaxed by the sudden silence of the halls, emptiness of the classes. While emptying a bag or replacing a liner, she could read the remnants of the day's lesson on the board, admire the posters, and artwork hung on the walls.
It was emptying the trash, one day, that she noticed a piece of paper, worn soft with multiple crumplings and smoothings. Smoothing it once more, against her thigh, she saw the words, some struck through, others added, inserted by way of a long curved arrow.
~*~*~*
I Want to Believe You
I want to believe you as I believe in you,
Believe that what you promise can be,
Believe that you did and do promise this to me,
Believe that the promise is eternal and true
As those that reside in fairy tales.
Believe that skin white, whiter than snow,
Lips and cheeks of blood, hair likened to empty space,
Maiden with unicorn, spells to trace,
Hero armored white v. black clad foe,
Exist out and apart from children's fairy tales.
Believe that happily ever after is not,
As some who are gown and old would say,
Only a curt ending to keep nightmares at bay,
But true promise of eternal love that the tot
May clasp long past death for fairy tales.
I want to believe that you love me.
Believe that your feelings are not based on your age,
Believe that not spoke on journal page,
Believe that the soul within speaks free
As wind, voice speaks reality of fairy tales.
~*~*~*
She read it and smiled, and wondered why it had been thrown away. She wondered who had written it, and who they had written it for.
She folded it neatly, putting it into her pocket. Perhaps later she would lay it back in its grave. For now, it could make an old woman happy.
~*~*~*