NaPM April 13, 2017

[rayheinrich]

                       



                        Incandescent faeries dive through trees,
                        their armies seethe from sacred glens, from ancient
                        forests long held tight with awe, and adders
                        lurking, flicking tongues within the grass.
                        It's come to this my faithful wife transformed
                        to traitor, beast, and revolutionist.
                        Your shadow creatures, teeming trolls of night
                        you've changed to modern form, to smiling memes,
                        to endless photographs of fluffy cats;
                        your magic's spun them into vicious forms
                        to noxious Twitter feeds, to Facebook rants,
                        transmuted faithful dogs to fiendish curs.
                        No battle fleets encroaching from the seas
                        No Majic Incantations, but the skill
                        to use the faults concealed within ourselves,
                        to leverage, profit by our tragic flaws
                        to spur the fierce revolt of our own id -
                        this gang of patriarchs, this race of men
                       
                        --------------------------------------------
                       
                        Flowers turn to poison, our food corrupts
                        our eggplants are to be feared, our slightest shrubbery
                        has turned against us,
                        our  refrigerators have locked our sustenance away,
                        hold it tightly against their frozen bosoms.
                       
                        And what came next: Illusions of our victory contained within
                        our VR frames, are single-shooter games of conquest mere illusion;
                        our fashion from our shoes to cunning hats
                        turned tragic our aesthetics woefully incapable of holding joy
                       
                        And God's long dead arising, bolts of artificial lightning,
                        electromagnetic hammers, and atomic suns.
                       
                        My changeling children their false love turned against me,
                        you thankless children, how I feel your serpent teeth.
                        Your costly  degrees in physics, enabling a diabolical mathematics,
                        the laws of force and gravity turned upside down.
                        The mechanisms of engineers constructing fearful gears
                        a fearful DNA unleashed its nasty snakes of molecules,
                        recombinant, they slither through our cells
                       
                        Your faeries held no golden dust, no iridescent wings to bear them high
                        but briefcases of lawyers and accountants to destroy our infrastructure,
                        our balances of trade, the valuation of our monies
                       
                        You, my faery wife, my trusted partner bonded to my life how could you?
                        The excitement of your passion, your seduction, your erotic power
                        used as spell against me, I was lost in it and powerless,
                       
                        ---------------------------------------------
                       
                        What have I done to earn this punishment?
                        Oh how I comprehend and wish I didn't...
                        no, I much prefer to know the truth of it,
                        to feel it, even though it forces pain.
                        To see how I,  my race of men demeaned you
                        and enslaved you, stole from you the pleasure of
                        your life, the right to exercise your gifts;
                        and in these acts deprived ourselves of same.
                        The laying of my hands on you in anger;
                        a monster taking pleasure in  your pain.
                        So now I absolutely know this truth.
                        I know how just, how fitting, your revenge;
                        and learning this, I know it's only I that's lost.
                        How sharp! Oh I've begun to feel it now,
                        your potent poison overcomes my soul.
                        I will not live to hear your victories,
                        but with my dying voice I know it's true.
                        Hear me, Titania dear, my queen of faeries:
                        'Gainst all this, the paradox of love
                        remains, just hold me to you, let me feel
                        your faery warmth, the light caress of wings...
                        The rest is silence.

                                                - - -




P.S. I had intended to fully convert this draft to iambic pentameter (and throw in a few more Bard homages); but though my spirit is willing, my flesh is headin' for the barn.
Maybe I'll come back later after I feed the cats?