Juxtapose (Aden 1)

In the shadows of Aden, a lowly young maiden
Will oft serve the wealthy for free.
Her face bears the tears of the penance of years,
Her soul a trapped semblance of glee,
And her locks beaten trite, so golden and light,
Gleam ever more dully and ever more bright
In anticipation of the coming foundation
Of strangely odd fancies she fancies are right.
Her pale depredation betrays no formation
Of any trapped semblance of fright,
Yet still she seems sickly of soul; she moves quickly,
Agilely at home in the darkness of night.

The street-lights of Aden shine shadow-beams laden
With pitiful praises for vice and despair.
Beneath their dark gazes, a cloaked figure grazes,
A master of damages and their repair.
His face appears vaunting, decrepit yet haunting,
His hands worn unnaturally, dogged and daunting,
And each striking feature of that ragged old creature
Imposes upon its beholder a canting
Once come from a preacher, the darkest soul-leecher,
Who spoke for the wellness-to-do of his teacher.
And although he seems sickly of flesh, he moves thickly,
Awryly at home in the darkness of night.

6/9/06