Imagine the soldier. Imagine he,
After the quiet of the battlefield
In morning's light, after the battle
Yes after the battle, after he has buried
All his friends, imagine him
Travelling back to the land of his birth
And finding everything alien.
Imagine the soldier, imagine he
Hearing of the challenge put out by the king,
And scorning it in his heart, a challenge
Like the challenge of war? The lies,
That killed his friends? The soldier sinking back
Taking medicaments to dull the pain
In his head and in his left knee,
In his back and just below his breastbone.
Imagine the soldier, imagine he
Watch princelings gather from all the lands
And come. Not with war, but with the promise
Of no more wars, not from themIf there is to be a union, yes
He watches and waits, too gone for hope
As each of those promises turn
Into blood red flowers that die
On morning's light.
So the soldier takes his sword
His courtesies toward old men and women
Who travel the road, for whose safety
His friends died. Yes, he can be polite
Thinking of them, and with
Such politeness he can win new friends
To see him through the nights ahead
Though he does not fear death
Nor the coming of morning's light
And morning's light does come.
You know this story now, the sisters
Who lied to their father the king themselves
Are burned as offerings to slake
The thirst of vengeful kings and queens
With dead sons. And amidst all this carnage
The warnings of magic and demons and fae
The soldier and the survivor pledge
Not to love each other, but to obey
To have faith and see the future
In morning's cleansing, bitter light.
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(A/N: I was pretty horrified to hear that one version of the Twelve Dancing Princesses has all the other girls burned at the stake as witches, with only the youngest being too frightened to lie and thus being saved. And I also wanted to explore the soldier a little more, so here it is).
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The Fairytale Wakes
PoetryOnce upon a time is now. A poetry collection celebrating and subverting fairytales.
