La Poésie de la Lune

by bearsbeetsbattlestargalactica

I never understood exactly what that word meant. Beauty. What was it that made someone beautiful? Full lips, wide eyes, sloping cheekbones, flawless figure? But how did someone define flawless? How did they rank someone on a scale of one to ten based not on their mind, not in the beauty embedded in their veins, but in their skin? (Now an ongoing series!)

8. Hypocrite

A/N: Here's the poem of the day! For anyone that's wondering, there are going to be 15 poems in this series (like a mini-anthology). This is poem #8, titled 'Hypocrite'. Not my best, but I figured I should do a Dr. Erland one eventually. Anyway, thanks again to all reviewers, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the lullaby. That's the official crescent moon lullaby, not mine.

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Hypocrite

I am a hypocrite.

###

People do not feel pity for hypocrites.

Instead, they turn up their noses,

send dirty glances from beneath half-lidded eyes,

whisper behind cupped palms, tones low and deadly,

malicious.

###

I am no different, I won't pretend that I am.

I won't make my case. Don't feel pity for me.

I don't deserve it.

###

I am a hypocrite.

###

I have killed so many people that the world

has lost track. I have ruined so many lives

that there is no punishment harsh or cruel enough

to exact justice. Because, as it turns out,

justice is a funny thing. Just because someone deserves it

doesn't mean

that they will receive it.

###

I had a wife once…

###

I had a child once…

###

Too many lost lives and mistakes ago…

###

I was rich and prosperous, a miracle doctor,

but I did not save lives, I ended them.

In the second era, doctors used to pledge

a Hippocratic oath: First do no harm.

I have broken that oath so many times,

smashed it to bits with a blunt hammer,

again and again and again and again.

###

I do not heal, I harm. Harming is what I do.

###

Because I was an attack dog with a scalpel

and a syringe, stuck in a glorified collar

that looked like a bright white lab coat.

###

Maybe if I weren't so good at killing,

maybe if I weren't so good at ruining,

maybe if I weren't so good at harming,

###

the collar would have gone

away.

###

But I was good at killing, at ruining, and harming.

And so the queen with the too-pretty face

wrapped a collar round my neck and whispered

in her too pretty voice: Serve me.

###

I did not protest. I took my syringe and my scalpel

and went to work, sowing the seeds of death.

And until I had my daughter, until I held

her tiny, fragile body in my hands, I didn't realize

how wrong I was, how twisted I was, how blackened

my heart and bruised my soul.

###

I begged her, the queen, my wife, but their hearts

were too blackened to see the truth. My hypocrisy

lifted the black on my heart, the haze over my vision.

###

But it was too late. I lost her. Crescent Moon.

###

It was the only punishment harsh enough, cruel enough

to come close to giving me the justice I deserved.

###

Her song rings in my head:

###

Sweet Crescent Moon, up in the sky,

won't you sing your song to Earth

as she passes by? Your sweetest silver

melody, a rhythm and a rhyme,

a lullaby of pleasant dreams

as you make your climb.

Send the forests off to bed,

the mountains tuck in tight,

rock the ocean gently,

and the deserts kiss goodnight.

Sweet Crescent Moon, up in the sky,

you sing your song so sweetly

after sunshine passes by.

###

I am a hypocrite.

I have gotten what I deserved.

###

So don't feel pity for me, at what I have lost.

###

I have caused others to lose more than I.