I found the room was gone,
leaving my head spinning.
I was standing near a mountain,
vast chasm grinning.
Lamps within the cavern
took their turns dimming
as the wind teased their flames:
The tongues of dragons spitting.
I flew back into my head
as I heard the rock splitting.
So The Queen hides herself
beneath a mountain's peak...
I knew of only one summit
she could reach at any speed.
Suddenly, I was filled
with a sense of dire need.
Righteous rage, smelted anger,
rose to bloom inside of me.
The weight of knowledge,
and of hope,
forged a blade of urgency.
Is this blade of mine a tool?
Is pressing rage a strategy?
...Or am I forced to play the fool?
Is this tale a tragedy?
While I reacted to the visions,
I shook violently,
and heard the gurgle of the beast,
as he breathed in labored heaves.
"Listen filth;
He who is made of dead leaves,
if only for the reason
he is what the worms eat.
There is less purpose for you
than there is for rotted meat.
Why are you so intent
on that I try and I succeed?
What business is it of yours,
I wield a sword against The Queen?"
At every curse uttered,
Rumpelstiltskin seemed to lean
a little lower, in the shoulders,
like the sadness of defeat,
but once again, he drew the curtain,
his demeanor growing mean.
He looked stronger in his anger
than anyone I'd ever seen.
"Do you not know yet, Royal One?!?"
He exclaimed explosively.
"Do you not think that I take notice,
When I see you pity me,
And insult me, and degrade me,
Simultaneously?
What was it you said
the first time you heard me speak?
I greeted you as friend,
and I repulsed you instantly!
If I have anger, and I do,
it is for she who made this be..."
The answer satisfied more
than my curiosity.
I almost pitied him then and there,
but for the mention in his speech,
the maniacal in his eyes,
the pain hidden beneath.
It is that way I recall him,
Looking back in memory,
And it is that way he stood silent,
As I took my quiet leave.
Like a tree, where once was forest:
Too lonely there to grieve,
and no reprieve in the weather,
only wave and wave of heat.
I peered into the mirror,
and saw that same look upon me.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
I found the room was gone,
leaving my head spinning.
I was standing near a mountain,
vast chasm grinning.
Lamps within the cavern
took their turns dimming
as the wind teased their flames:
The tongues of dragons spitting.
I flew back into my head
as I heard the rock splitting.
So The Queen hides herself
beneath a mountain's peak...
I knew of only one summit
she could reach at any speed.
Suddenly, I was filled
with a sense of dire need.
Righteous rage, smelted anger,
rose to bloom inside of me.
The weight of knowledge,
and of hope,
forged a blade of urgency.
Is this blade of mine a tool?
Is pressing rage a strategy?
...Or am I forced to play the fool?
Is this tale a tragedy?
While I reacted to the visions,
I shook violently,
and heard the gurgle of the beast,
as he breathed in labored heaves.
"Listen filth;
He who is made of dead leaves,
if only for the reason
he is what the worms eat.
There is less purpose for you
than there is for rotted meat.
Why are you so intent
on that I try and I succeed?
What business is it of yours,
I wield a sword against The Queen?"
At every curse uttered,
Rumpelstiltskin seemed to lean
a little lower, in the shoulders,
like the sadness of defeat,
but once again, he drew the curtain,
his demeanor growing mean.
He looked stronger in his anger
than anyone I'd ever seen.
"Do you not know yet, Royal One?!?"
He exclaimed explosively.
"Do you not think that I take notice,
When I see you pity me,
And insult me, and degrade me,
Simultaneously?
What was it you said
the first time you heard me speak?
I greeted you as friend,
and I repulsed you instantly!
If I have anger, and I do,
it is for she who made this be..."
The answer satisfied more
than my curiosity.
I almost pitied him then and there,
but for the mention in his speech,
the maniacal in his eyes,
the pain hidden beneath.
It is that way I recall him,
Looking back in memory,
And it is that way he stood silent,
As I took my quiet leave.
Like a tree, where once was forest:
Too lonely there to grieve,
and no reprieve in the weather,
only wave and wave of heat.
I peered into the mirror,
and saw that same look upon me.
Part 16:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2195946/the-thorn-of-roses-part-16-series/
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