The absence of love
makes one a villain
in other’s hearts.
–
In the proposal
the weeping willow
sheds its leaves
to the sky,
–
while in the bowels below
the servants of the earth
forge war,
–
pull iron from earth
as it screams
to be reclaimed.
–
Above, silk napkins
unfold into laps
with a curt snap of wrists.
–
Into the depths
the princess falls,
into the opposite of heaven.
–
She opens her eyes
to the evil above her, around her,
near her, pouring out
like bearings onto sheets of gold.
–
“Maybe,” she thinks,
“we can exist
without fear of war?
Find a way together?”
–
This is no fairy tale,
but yet this
is precisely a fairy tale.
–
She dreams of her wedding
where all are invited
and all are expected.
–
She can see butterflies
swirl around her wedding gown,
her face reflected in a golden bowl,
the bloom of thousands
of attending fairies.
–
But yet, she is still falling,
full with the wisdom
that the spindle
curses everything it touches
–
and that her subjects are locusts
fated to swarm the earth
a thousand years
enduring the evil promised them,
–
until she burns herself out,
the last blood of the Phoenix,
destined from ashes to be transformed.
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