The Undeem roil like a black faceless tide,
an ebb and flow of shadow she’d once known,
embraced as truth ’cause all things fade; deride
death if you must, but its henchmen aren’t drones.
They loathe human life, human flesh, solid
bone cages where resides a soulful treat–
and she’s one of them, hunger made solid,
shadow given woman’s seeming, where beat
no heart, not animated by unlife
such as hers, daughter of Undeem hordes, now
dolor’us not for what she lost, but life
she might’ve spent represented by a brow
free of life’s cares, a baby not her own,
for whom compassion had grown, dissent sown.
~ ~ ~
None of the Undeem touched that child, carried
in her bound arms, it cried and its tears soaked
her form; their strange wetness somehow married
her to corporeality and coaxed
her true form back from the Undeem’s ether
preventing her from merging and losing
self to undifferentiation; her
will sublimated to Empress’ bidding–
not this time, not this rebellion in tears
beginning anew as the Undeem dive down
through frigid water to the sunken smear
that resolves to a hibiscus shaped town–
a city whose name history has swept
away; its ghosts, for that injustice, wept.
~ ~ ~
Down they poured through crack and crevice, weaving
around columns that hold roofs up no more
to the Empress’ hall, where their tossing
her down on cold tile free of water’s war
to destroy this place; best of luck she wishes
to that downpour widening the crack above.
Let it drown the place make Undeem fishes
instead of fishers of men who gut their loves
and pull out their souls, adding their conquests
to the horde until pity elicits
a choice–wish it’d deaden fear in her breast.
The empress’ claw extends to solicit
an explanation but Undreal has none,
It was pity that made her come undone.
~ ~ ~
Now she lay unable to move, like prey,
like the human adversary without
a cross or symbol of creation’s say
in these matters, nor belief just her doubts
and an irrelevant desire to know
what could have been if she’d escaped and raised
the child pity made her hold, who lay so
cold, wet and wailing, in misery’s haze.
Nothing could she do to ease or delay
her fate or the child’s; ’twas the empress’ whim
that would hold sway; that burned and made her fey.
Made her struggle against formless bonds, half
here and on other planes; the empress laughed.
~ ~ ~
The empress leaned in, her hibiscus kissed
lips breathing in fear and anger; savor
it she does, so rare a gift from child mist,
from thing forgotten, twisted from favor
of demons into shadow creatures, bland
puppets whose unlife makes the Creator
squirm; by choice they came to her ranks to stand
in her cerulean realm to serve, they swore.
Attrition of the human herd by choice,
by her grand design now foiled by this one
wretched thing, who’d half reversed the change choice’d
made and for what? A squalling babe? That one’s
better of as fish food; its soul’s too small
to feed her; what good is his life at all?
~ ~ ~
The Quest continues tomorrow…
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It’s an enthralling tale told in verse with a quest that centers on finding the heart of this winter season.
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~ ~ ~