The Telltale Tattletale
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Description:
The first, and last, I believe, poem I will write in vengeance. To drownedkytten, weeping_dolphin, and Katie, whichever name she prefers most.
The Telltale Tattletale
~For her, who surely dons her airs, amidst façade beyond compare. “I’ll just borrow it, really,” the selfsame spiel that sold the emperor’s clothes, “They’ll catch me sooner or later, so it’s okay, right?” (Because it wasn’t stealing, Because, somehow, somehow, that made it) “Okay.” A phoenix blazes through the skies, not because its feathers prized the gold within the sun— Though plume and luminescence share the selfsame, iridescent flair, two flames persist, not one. The single lone mistake it made, the angling aspirator did, It tried to hide behind parades, to march along as if so bid; It knew of naught for accolades, nor knew the weight it could not rid To steal another’s drummer’s shades, to steal the can and force the lid It stumbled, tumbled, could not fade, and midst the borrowed crowd it hid. The sparrow spied her soaring true, such blazing gold against the blue, And splitting sky with flame in two, as Phoenixes are oft to do, And mesmerized, her thoughts ague, she dreamed that she might do it too, To rear the sky like dawn in bloom, to tint the clouds aflame in hue, And thus a quest began anew, just like wings of wax once flew. It sought the spark that spurred the flames, the mystic glint that banished rains; It saw, it thought that radiance came from what was seen, from what was gained; It taught itself, deceived, and blamed, the world for what it ne’er obtained And so it fought like souls for names, perceiving not that words wield pain, And so, with naught to know but fame, it chased the phoenix through the plains. And where it rested, where night fell, there began the siren’s spell; A hymn of haste, of wishing wells, when, wishes granted, egos swell-- Of those who forgot wisdom’s knell, as that which blazes does not tell The truth which every question quells, the blow that drives the chimes of bells: The things that burn eternal dwell, in not just sun, but also hell. At first but one was all it asked, a single gift with which it dreamed The flair to bear, like sunshine-basked effluent wines like summer streams. And freely ‘pon the phoenix tasked to claim the proudest plume it deemed The crowning jewel to make its mask, the mark to make its splendor seem As one with its so purloined cask, though content volume makes, not schemes. And so it flew, and ‘lo, the skies, so truly like the dawn did rise To meet her flight for gazing eyes, to win the golden rays it prized And felt the heat, as if so wise as to discern from truth disguise, And soared—and soared—through gasps and sighs, though beauty only birthed demise, And turned, seduced by conceit’s lies, like spellbound moth to fire’s vise. And more, and more, and more! It wailed, ‘till sun and phoenix doubly failed To bare a brighter glory, veil, that captivates the light and sails Across the day from rail to rail, to be one chased to no avail; It took and took, and took, assailed, the feathers of the phoenix tail, Because it too, so right, so hale, should have the right to touch the grail. When finally the phoenix woke, and turned, and gasped, and knew, and spoke-- In pain, in fear, in anger, choked, though naught would leave its luster broke, It tore to clouds in slivered cloak, though rays would only further stoke To leave the fool whose wanton stroke, would soon enough reveal its yoke Like ragged throats make all toads croak, crests of flame will always smoke. And when it thought it had it all, when sparrow truly felt the wall Of normalcy, which once stood tall, was far beneath its wings, through gall, The clock began its deadly shawl, for flame is every sunbeam’s pall And thus the heat it once thought small, began to seethe as though enthralled And thus two things began to fall: the clouds above, and curtain call. The Phoenix, all its anger shorn, began the rites through which it earned Or rather once again adorned, the golden wings and blazing stern, While she who briefly once had worn, the emblem blessed for which she yearned Consumed herself in flame and scorn, and sunlight fled from flesh flame spurned And when the phoenix was reborn, the speckled sparrow simply burned. To all ye men and souls who yearn, to all ye whispers, dreamers, learn The truth which hails, which wise discern, that praise and gold and glory’s earned, And should ye try but once to turn, another’s praise to your concern, Know that of the souls so stern, so strong to seek from flames adjourn (Though) To ashes all who try are burned, from ashes only one returns. |
Submitted on 2007-08-20 03:52:22 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| Wow...alright then...first let me say this was long and well worth the read. I'm not going to take your description into account as I have no idea nor do I want to...sounds too personal. Yet the poem itself is an amazing take on what you some what said up there so for that kuddos. I cannot believe how well you did with the whole rhyme bound to theme of changing identity...lying and masking the truth. There was only a couple places where it felt forced...which is bound to happen when doing such a long piece with steady sound. I'm sorry that this critique will be of no use as it would be hard to get into it completely and nit pick it apart. Yet the fact that this is a vengeance write really has no baring on critique does it...I mean if you got what you wanted to get out then the piece really needs no other sounding board to hear from. I think you really did a great job of carrying out this tale with easy and character...smooth and charming at the same time...which, for the meaning of the poem itself is a big accomplishment and I give you my standing applause for it. | Posted on 2007-08-20 00:00:00 | by clay | [ Reply to This ] | |
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