I wrote this poem a few days ago, for a Christmas competition, at a Romanian Star Wars forum (the only rule was to submit a form of poetry that took place in the SW Universe, be it humoristic or dark). There are still a few days before the contest closes and the winner is announced, so right now I'm only hoping . . . . though the others wrote very beautiful pieces and I don't think I stand much of a chance:)
Living in Memories
Time always passes me by; these unending days seem to turn into hours,
The hours seem to be mere seconds to my fleeting mind, scattering madly
As I stand still and watch the stars slowly shine and dim, on the black sky.
They speak, but I can never hear them, deafened by a lifetime of lies.
They smile, but it only makes me feel chilled to the bone, deader than I am now.
But if I try and turn my gaze away from them, shunning them away from my thoughts
Everything around me only seems to get much colder and darker, as my world fades.
In hyperspace, between worlds, when crossing the void that divides the stars,
I feel closest to myself, alone with my mind for company, my coldness for support
Surrounded by crew and staff, but separated from the world by a veil of shadows.
Alone, in a void of darkness, unrestrained, my once chained thoughts can run free.
Not even the Dark One will be able to feel any of them, know of my transgressions
And make me pay dearly for my lack of foresight, that endangers his orderly plans.
There was once a time when watching the stars brought me unbridled joy,
But the fear of the dead, black sun destroyed what once had been whole in me.
It spawned the cold dragon that took refuge inside my heart, that burned in the core,
Waiting, gnawing, whispering, lying, growling and consuming me from the inside.
Was it my choice? Or had everything been already decided by Fate?
Were my steps only a chaotic mess – or had they been planned ahead?
Much as I would like to forget these questions, bury them in a grave,
They keep tearing at my mind, a second withered dragon, come to life.
Everything that I was had been so very simple only a few months ago:
Do your Master's bidding, kill, maim, satisfy the hunger for even more,
Work to make the Galaxy a better place, crush all those that stand in your way.
Then he had come along; the Cherubim, the small, blue-eyed boy.
It was he who threw my once orderly word into chaos, turned night into day.
What had been only white and black split in a thousand shades of grey,
All that had been simple, set in stone, was smashed in the span of a second.
Was he a part of me? Could the light come from darkness, like a forgotten dawn?
Why could I not hate him, when he was the one responsible for my present misery?
Why could I not destroy him, as I had once destroyed the one named Skywalker?
For he is Padme's child as well, a long-dead conscience seems to come back to life.
For you could not destroy the last part of her that still exists in this cold world
For you would rather give away your own life, than know the little boy dead.
Crushing it under an iron fist, mercilessly pushing the voice back among the ashes,
I tell myself I do not need something to remind me of the past, of all I had tried to forget
And of all that I had shattered, with my own hands, without a care.
But, still, the boy lives, despite my hate, despite awakening my dormant wrath.
We fought only once; even then I could see how strong he was, as I had once been,
Before the fire, the darkness, the lies, the betrayal tore my once whole body asunder.
He was defiant; he refused me, even when faced with certain death
And that he ultimately chose, falling through the clouds, rather taking my black hand,
Refusing to listen and believe, foolishly throwing away all that I was ready to give him.
How would I have felt, if his fingers had grasped mine, if he had believed?
If he would have extended his hand, smiling and telling me that he was here
That, in the end, whatever happens, we would be a family, as I had always dreamt?
The ship lurches and I snap my thoughts shut; what had I been thinking?
These are Skywalker's weak desires, somehow coming to the surface, from the deep
He is not dead yet; it is something I have always known to be true
Through the fire, through the darkness, through the ashes, a spark of him endures still.
I have fought with him, in secret, when no one knew, always conquering him
But he lives on, a hollow shell of what he had once been, against my will.
Not even the Dark One, my Master knows about him, for the Jedi is cunning
Hiding deep within my own mind, where none would think of searching.
Now, the boy's face has woken him from his slumber, to add to my misery.
Whenever I hear of Luke, it is his voice that laughs and smiles at his son's daring.
When my Master speaks, the Jedi taunts me with his promises of liberty and light.
Yet, much as I would like to see him dead and buried, along with the other relics,
I cannot find the power to do this myself, even though I have always tried,
For he is a part of myself, I am past denying it and to destroy him, I would destroy myself.
I do all that I can: I keep him locked tight, far down, where he cannot be heard,
Where his tears freeze, where he is deafened by silence and blinded by unending dark.
He begs me to spare the boy; I try to ignore him and go ahead with my plans
He calls out her name and I roar out in fury; I want to silence him, but he is never silent.
A beautiful planet comes into view: I abandon the cold stars to watch it closer.
It is Endor, I remember, watching the round skeleton of a station in an ellipse around it.
The place chosen for the endgame, where the rebels will meet their cruel fate.
I sit and stare, unable to sweep away the thought: such a beautiful place for a bloodbath.
I watch the blue-green world in rapture, for everything about it reminds me of her:
The subtle beauty, the life that it breathes into the Force, the light it seems to give.
It lies alone, in a cold, empty corner of the world, a jewel igniting in the night.
When I look upon the azure oceans, I can see her face reflected on them, smiling gently
She is singing a song; I can hear her voice as if she were sitting right next to me
It is a soft lullaby, for her child, and her smile grows sadder and tears shine in her eyes.
A heartbeat seems to sound in my chest, where there had only been silence before
Seeing her tears again makes me choke and I cough, reaching out, to touch her face
But my black fingers cannot caress her; the glass stands between us, as it has always has.
I can see her as clearly as ever, but to touch her will always be forbidden to me.
Padmé, I can barely whisper, Padmé, hear me. Your child is safe. Your son lives.
No harm will ever befall him, I swear you! I will watch over him, whatever happens.
He is powerful, Padmé, as I have once been, and beautiful, as you will always be.
He is all that I have left from you, angel. When I look at him, I see your face.
I do not know if she hears me, for her sad song continues and tears flow down her cheeks.
I want to fall to my knees, ask her if she loves me, after all that has happened
Ask for her forgiveness, hold her small, white hand between my two black ones.
Still entranced by her undying image, I place my other hand on the cold glass
To feel her closer; foolish as it may sound, I have always wanted her closer.
Nothing exists for me in these moments but her; the whole world could die and I wouldn't care
All I want to now do is drown myself in her memory, let her light shine deep within me.
The Admiral announces me of the arrival and I pull myself out of my thoughts.
What had I been thinking, I ask my own mind, as I realize what I had just done;
I had let Skywalker take control of me, grow even stronger, inside his black cage.
I cannot be angry, as I push him back down once more, my hate seeming to be spent
We both love her, I know, with cold dread: we have a link that ties us together
The Jedi is smiling sadly, like her, as he extends his hand - what does he want?
I crushed him, shattered his remains, abandoned his memory, shunned his weakness,
And yet, here he stands, a mirror image of myself, a blue-eyed man, his hand outstretched.
I hesitate, raise my own black palm, to join it with his own; he is still smiling sadly.
By making peace with the Jedi, my soul will be calm, as the moment of climax draws closer.
The peace will be short, I know, casting away my once-innocent expectations;
The Jedi's eyes are laughing; he mocks me, believing I am always doomed to fail.
I do not listen to him, for a small part of myself knows (and denies) that he is right.
Before turning to the Darkness, I look at her one last time, remembering her face.
I listen to her quiet song, as she looks into my eyes; Skywalker is still smiling.
For a moment, Time stands still, as I live in the memories of the forgotten Past.
We will be together, is the broken promise that leaves my lips. Soon, my angel.
And Skywalker is still smiling.