These two poems are sonnets. Also, a John Greene reference! Can you find it? Also: Formed an opinion? Care to share it? Please do!
Constant Angel
The days and nights grow dark and cold too fast
My passion dies and comes to a slow halt
Was I a fool to think our love would last?
Would it be wrong to claim it was her fault?
For since her pools of brown had learned to see
Through tears that stained her cheek, so pale, so nice
Angel I was, and would forever be
Until hell itself froze over with ice
That moment when her true angel flew in
In feath'ry wings, he soon took hold of her
He left me with a hate stronger than sin
I cried with pain too horrid to endure
When at long last she met her match in love
She looked in vain for sight of his black glove
Withering Flowers
Oh how I wish to see his hidden face!
How I long to see that old flash of white,
His renown mask, as deadly as a mace.
Alone in shadow, bathéd in dark light
That agéd violin, dusty and cold
'Tis sad: I hear its song no more, no more
O Father of mine, why must we grow old?
What's in time to come, what is held in store?
True, his voice resounds angelic melody!
It ravishes my soul in music's tune,
And wards off all the fear and death in me
To bring small flowers into life and bloom
My angel, oh fair creature—I ask why,
Why do I kill my soul with cruel "goodbye"?
Tears streamed silently down my face as I made my way down a dark passage. There was no way the mob would ever find me! I am the angel of darkness! I roughly wiped away my tears of sorrow. Enough, Erik. No more.
How dare they come into my domain, and drive me out like a rat from the sewer! My brows furrowed in frustration. How dare she leave me to this pained existence!
After traversing winding passages, twisted staircases, and entering and exiting hidden doors, I at last reached a thoroughly concealed chamber, the furthest, actually, from all others, and certainly the furthest below the Opera House.
Slashing away at cobwebs and clearing away dust, I did a cursory sweep of the rooms. Yes, this would be fine until I could return to my old, familiar chamber—that is if the mob didn't completely destroy it.
Taking a moment to adjust to my current setting, I located the only organ in the entire chamber—My third favorite, of all my collection.
Sitting down gracefully upon a thin layer of dust, I rested my hands softly upon several keys. It was undoubtedly out of tune, but I needed to find refuge somewhere. I had to flee my contorted feelings.
Soft, dull music chimed forth from the smooth, cold keys, and echoed interminably, then faded into silence. Silence as dead and abandoned as my soul. Fresh tears welled in my eyes. Tears of rage.
Grasping a brass candlestick in my hand, I hurled it at the nearest wall with all my strength. A loud smash resounded as I yelled and beat against my chest with my fist, proclaiming all sorts of blasphemy: "Damn her! Damn my angel! Damn me!"
I cared not how loud I shouted, for no one would hear me. Even if someone did, who could find a Phantom, in a labyrinth of suffering such as this?
As we ran, we stumbled. In a hurried, panicked mess we fled from the place that had once been so tempting and mysterious. His fearsome shriek, filled with anguish, it clawed at my ears. It was my fault he felt such pain, my fault that he was suffering so terribly.
Raoul tugged me along harder the more I started to lag behind, sobbing tears of misery. The more I heartbrokenly slowed, clinging to whatever solace I had, which was nothing—sweet, sweet nothing—Raoul started to slow as well, and finally stopped, his arm upon my shoulder.
"Christine," he murmured, as I wept like a storm cloud, "Christine. It is over, it is done. Let's away. You have me, I am here. Please, cease your tears. Come along, Christine, my love."
He wrapped his arms around my shoulder, and together we walked down the dark passageway.
Though I would try to deny it, or protest against it, I have to admit that I searched each shadow for my angel. But he was gone, and I was the only one to blame.