Psychomachia

-

A lady stands in a room where the panes

Are draped with velvet curtains. It might be

Any year, or entirely apart

From time. Outside, the sun takes its lazy

Ease ‘neath the horizon, surrendering

The world to his sister, the cool black night.

-

A curtain drops. The soft serenade of

A violin compels her to move, though

She lacks a partner. He’ll come, though; of this

She is sure. After all, the curtains fall

For a reason. Heavy skirts rustle like

The velvet hangings, so subtly disturbed.

-

Too much wine, or not enough – she sometimes

Thinks there could never be enough, not to

Push away the plague in her mind. He would

Make it easy, so easy, to fall, to

Forget. Love is a game, yes? Or rather

A drowning; she is not a strong swimmer.

-

A candle is lit as another sash

Is loosed, another window covered, faint

Flicker to compensate for loss of day.

And now she hears, she knows, she is alone

No longer, though still she can not see, her

Back ever to that dark presence that hunts.

-

And yet he has not fenced in his quarry;

He prefers her free range, willing prey, to

Choose to be caught. If she ran, she bolted,

She could escape. But there is music here,

And sunlight has failed her, and where could she

Flee? Why make that attempt, when she could dance?

-

Darker still within, and she can sense him

Behind her, echoing her steps. This room

Is warm, though there is no fire, and the

Hour grows late, and suddenly her hand

Is caught, twined with strong fingers. Another

Arm steals ‘round her waist, holding, possessing.

-

Her breath draws in sharply, nearly a gasp,

And he responds with low laughter, amused

As ever by his power over her.

A hand in her hair turns her head, lips and

Teeth graze the skin of her neck, tenderly

At first, and in a deep voice, he dares, --Run--

-

It is her chance, and she knows it will not

Come again. He forces surrender, not

Captivity, a truer dominance,

A great show of his power; but with his

Breath on her neck, his tongue tracing a line

From throat to ear, there is hardly a choice.

-

She should run. She should fly, should free herself

While the opportunity exists. If

She dallies in this room, she will remain

Forever; he will not unlock the cage

Once the door is shut. But what should she choose

The other path, to fly into the sun?

-

The chase will not end. He will pursue till

His aims are met, his goal won. Should she run

Now, she will have to run for all time, as

She has for all her years till now. And she

Is tired. She has now no strength left to

Flee, much less to fight against the darkness.

-

She has waged many wars, sometimes on her

Own behalf, sometimes for others, and each,

No matter how glorious, drained that much

More of her spirit, of her drive. And who

Noticed, but him, as her defences went

Weak? He was the first to offer a hand.

-

How much easier to have his help, to

Fight for herself no longer, to let him

Shelter, protect. All she need do is sell

Away a part of herself, give a bit

Of her fire over to him, sign her

Sovereignty to a dominating force.

-

It isn’t in her nature to buckle,

To let stress force her capitulation,

And part of the ever-rebellious soul

Revolts, repelled by the traitor’s portion’s

Weakness. It can’t hate itself, though, and the

Chink in the wall has been there all along.

-

--I know, pet-- he whispers, and a soft breath

Escapes her at hearing his voice, darkly

Sweet and soothing. --I know what you’ve whispered

To the stars, what temptations you shut your

Eyes against, what desires you take such pains

To lock away, hoping to extinguish.

-

But darkness, my dear, eliminates the

Light; you can’t turn out the shadows, nor seek

To deny they exist.-- Somehow, she has

Been turned to face him, and his lips hover

Just over hers, turned up so trustingly,

And a finger wraps ‘round one burnished curl.

-

The struggle within continues even

As he coaxes with caresses. --I am

Not this-- the rebel’s heart forces her to

Say. --I am not of this place; I am Gold

And Brave, built for insurrection; I bear

The banner for Those who once fashioned me.—

-

--Once bore-- he corrects. --I see no standard

With you now.-- His fingers in her hair tug

Her head back, throat dangerously exposed,

And she moans in helpless abandon as

His teeth capture her skin, sip of her blood,

And she realises how she clings to him.

-

--I have never abandoned you-- comes the

Breath against her ear. --Nor forsaken, but

When you saw fit to fly first, to betray

My faith in you. But I always forgive,

And swear never to repay the fealty

You show me in the same vein you give it.

-

Can you elicit such a promise from

Any other who would have you serve?-- She

Knows she will not, can not; They do not make

Solemn vows, not to Their pawns. And he speaks

Truth, he is more loyal than she, she who

Betrays at whim, from sheer perversity.

-

She is caught between two shames, weighted by

Her past and afraid of her future. Which

Sin is greater, to tempt or be tempted?

--Run—he repeats --if you can-- He catches

Her body as it starts to sink, weakened

When he laps the crimson staining her neck.

-

--No-- she whispers, cradled in possessive

Arms, and when his mouth finds hers, the final

Curtain falls, shutting them into their

Own world, secluding the Emperor with

His lady, succumbing to shadows and

Sin, which have for so long lurked in her mind.

-

"Love is a game, yes? I think it is a drowning." – Amy Lowell

"Is this her fault or mine? The tempter or tempted, who sins the most?” – Shakespeare, Measure for Measure