***
***
The folding screen stands tall in the
Splendid Paramour's room, the glory
kissed further by the sun-dappled
tree light that spilled through her window.
A painted surface of honeyed-gold that
can only be found from a blooming sun,
with edges as purple as her lover's robes.
Or at least it was. Now all she sees is the
shade of countless wine-stains, the shades
of many flowering bruises.
One each of the panels, chrysanthemums in
bloom, ever so vibrant; pomegranate red,
mimosa gold, mint green. Her slender finger
stroked one of glacial blue, while her eyes
fell on the one of wedding white, pure and
innocent. She recalled a dream she had the
night before. She was standing in a barren
field with many holes; her obsidian hair,
long straight and loose, her lithe body in a
simple white robe.
She saw faceless figures made of silver vapour,
all speaking secrets into various holes before
they ceased into nothing. From their buried
words bloomed chrysanthemums, each singing,
each whispered, joyous thoughts to heart-
wrenching songs. Re-opening her eyes, she
walked behind her folding screen, out of gold
light, into the purple shade. On the back was
hand-painted with plum blossoms that decorated
the cloak of snow. On the floor, a simple
embroidered pillow.
Upon the simple table, her four great treasures;
an ink stick made from animal oil, printed with
orchids;
"For you are my eternal pledge of beauty," she
heard her lover coo, but she shook the thought
away. Next, a black ink stone that was carved
with a dragon and phoenix - a painful tug of her
heart; brush made of goat hairs; tip was soft and
flextile; "Paint your mind for me, my love," he
cooed again as she bit her lower lip.
And finally, small sheets of paper. "Born only
from bamboo," she muttered so bitterly.
"My sweet Meihua," she felt his palm on her
cheek. "None will replace you, my Splendid
Paramour. Ever so noble, always so virtuous."
And after the memory came the pain; her lover
was a dragon, none above him but the Gods,
but his beautiful face distorted for he had a
dragon's temper; the dripping wine-stains,
and blooming bruises.
She began to grind the ink-stick on the
ink-block, until she had a small silk-oil
point. Raising her brush, she dipped the
tip in the ink and now, she would paint
the words of her mind. In the comforts of
room, soundless, she painted her heart
that remained unhealed.
In the her lover's arms, the Dragon's
arms, she had hoped to be his Empress,
his doting phoenix, that would rise
through the skies, forever entwined in
a dance of love, soaring through nimbus
big and small. But alas, that would never
be. Not anymore...
The wine-stains, the budding bruises.
Her path strewn by fellow Consorts
long dead, with silk wrapped around
their throats, or poisons on their tables,
or even crimson flowers leaking out of
their sliced wrists.
She wrote and wrote on, blinking away
the stinging from her eyes, casting her
her dreams of being a Worthy Consort
aside, as she would with her name,
the one he granted her, 'Meihua',
the dragon's flowering plum. But if
she did, what would she be?
A girl, a ghost that bears no name.
"He saw me as virtuous," she said, "he
saw me as noble, until..." That accursed
moment, the wine-stains, the sprouting
bruises. She shivered even though her
palace was warm, but to her, it was cold.
Forever cursed to be cold.
Without the dragon's presence, she felt
so alone. No family nor friend - no soul
in sight. Naught to talk to in her blight.
For now he cursed Meihua to wither and
fade.
"My love," she whimpered. "My love,
Return. I would do anything for you to
return."
Once she painted out her heart on the
bamboo page, she pulled a dagger from
her billowing sleeve.
Fate had closed her chapter,
it was never meant to be.
Years and tears of love had
made her blind in one eye.
***
***
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
***
***
The folding screen stands tall in the
Splendid Paramour's room, the glory
kissed further by the sun-dappled
tree light that spilled through her window.
A painted surface of honeyed-gold that
can only be found from a blooming sun,
with edges as purple as her lover's robes.
Or at least it was. Now all she sees is the
shade of countless wine-stains, the shades
of many flowering bruises.
One each of the panels, chrysanthemums in
bloom, ever so vibrant; pomegranate red,
mimosa gold, mint green. Her slender finger
stroked one of glacial blue, while her eyes
fell on the one of wedding white, pure and
innocent. She recalled a dream she had the
night before. She was standing in a barren
field with many holes; her obsidian hair,
long straight and loose, her lithe body in a
simple white robe.
She saw faceless figures made of silver vapour,
all speaking secrets into various holes before
they ceased into nothing. From their buried
words bloomed chrysanthemums, each singing,
each whispered, joyous thoughts to heart-
wrenching songs. Re-opening her eyes, she
walked behind her folding screen, out of gold
light, into the purple shade. On the back was
hand-painted with plum blossoms that decorated
the cloak of snow. On the floor, a simple
embroidered pillow.
Upon the simple table, her four great treasures;
an ink stick made from animal oil, printed with
orchids;
"For you are my eternal pledge of beauty," she
heard her lover coo, but she shook the thought
away. Next, a black ink stone that was carved
with a dragon and phoenix - a painful tug of her
heart; brush made of goat hairs; tip was soft and
flextile; "Paint your mind for me, my love," he
cooed again as she bit her lower lip.
And finally, small sheets of paper. "Born only
from bamboo," she muttered so bitterly.
"My sweet Meihua," she felt his palm on her
cheek. "None will replace you, my Splendid
Paramour. Ever so noble, always so virtuous."
And after the memory came the pain; her lover
was a dragon, none above him but the Gods,
but his beautiful face distorted for he had a
dragon's temper; the dripping wine-stains,
and blooming bruises.
She began to grind the ink-stick on the
ink-block, until she had a small silk-oil
point. Raising her brush, she dipped the
tip in the ink and now, she would paint
the words of her mind. In the comforts of
room, soundless, she painted her heart
that remained unhealed.
In the her lover's arms, the Dragon's
arms, she had hoped to be his Empress,
his doting phoenix, that would rise
through the skies, forever entwined in
a dance of love, soaring through nimbus
big and small. But alas, that would never
be. Not anymore...
The wine-stains, the budding bruises.
Her path strewn by fellow Consorts
long dead, with silk wrapped around
their throats, or poisons on their tables,
or even crimson flowers leaking out of
their sliced wrists.
She wrote and wrote on, blinking away
the stinging from her eyes, casting her
her dreams of being a Worthy Consort
aside, as she would with her name,
the one he granted her, 'Meihua',
the dragon's flowering plum. But if
she did, what would she be?
A girl, a ghost that bears no name.
"He saw me as virtuous," she said, "he
saw me as noble, until..." That accursed
moment, the wine-stains, the sprouting
bruises. She shivered even though her
palace was warm, but to her, it was cold.
Forever cursed to be cold.
Without the dragon's presence, she felt
so alone. No family nor friend - no soul
in sight. Naught to talk to in her blight.
For now he cursed Meihua to wither and
fade.
"My love," she whimpered. "My love,
Return. I would do anything for you to
return."
Once she painted out her heart on the
bamboo page, she pulled a dagger from
her billowing sleeve.
Fate had closed her chapter,
it was never meant to be.
Years and tears of love had
made her blind in one eye.
***
***
There was ALOT of turmoil I needed to write out.
In other news, this is my 700th poem! ^-^
This was inspired by a folding screen I saw in a museum once (from the Tang Dynasty, I believe), and it was so beautiful! If only it could talk...
And I was inspired by the Four Gentlemen, too! ^-^
Hope you enjoy it! I'm planning on continuing The Letter,
so hopefully, it'll be out tomorrow! ^-^
Thanks again, everyone!
Lyn ***
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