It figures that it'd take poetry to drag me back into my first fandom. Back over a year ago, Gabri
told me I should compile some Luke & Mara poems together, and I
thought it was an excellent idea. Of course, I only finished two (One Dance and Home) before I got stuck. However, I'm taking a Creative Writing course right now, and yesterday I just felt inspired
to finish this series. Thus, "Galatea." It's blank verse, and relies
much too heavily on the myth of Pygmalion for my own liking ... but
hopefully Gabri will like it.
The woman is perfected.
--Sylvia Plath, "Edge"
Galatea
Sometimes
I dream my heart is made of stone,
Chiseled
from the hardest granite – formed
Into
a flawless and unyielding soul;
A
thing of strength, this lifeless core, with veins
Of
ice flowing out from this callous rock
Within
my chest to frigid fingertips,
Smooth
marble impassive to the transient
Heat
of passion and folly's fickle flings.
Untouched
by human weaknesses, I am
A
statue; permanent beauty etched on
A
rock that will not fade, nor lose its might.
But
perhaps cold stone is not the ideal
Medium
– even Pygmalion preferred
Soft,
temporal splendor to the sculpted
Perfection
he created. For this chilled
Form
cannot withstand the warmth of ardor.
Affection
cannot fit inside this shell;
A
heart only in name, for marble is
Too
dense. Love requires a weaker home –
Capable
of sagging, or ripping, or …
Breaking.
A heart of stone can never cleave
In
two; but neither can it skip a beat, increase
In
rhythm, flood my bloodstream with fervor,
Or
wonder, or mere animal alarm.
It
always remains constant: cool and smooth,
Incapable
of any emotions.
And
so I find myself faced with a choice,
Between
the imperfections of the flesh,
Or
the persistent permanence of stone?
It
seems to me a decision between
Capricious
life or bare eternity.
FIN