Postscript: Cordelia

That one thing she never quite understood -
Why must she express it ever so loudly?
Was it doubt that brought him to ask of such,
Or was it merely him, wanting to hear the words
that she assumed need no longer be spoken?

For at the end of the story, ’twas she
Who remained faithfully by his side,
Proving that in her inability to find words
Is her ability to express in clear actions.
Yet it bothers her so - even at the very end,
When he held her like a child, asleep in his arms,
Eternally dreaming of days that were and will be,
That one question remained on her mind,
Nagging, nibbling at her mind’s corners: Why?

For he had banished her, penniless,
Without her honor and a decent future -
If not for her king, who took her in her desolate state,
admiring her strength and grace and honesty.
He had banished her: yet when he came to her
She welcomed him, and showed him that love,
the love he once wanted to hear from her.
This she did without regret, but she did
with but one question: Why ask such a thing?

For love, love - true love needs no words:
Like all great things, it need not be spoken.
But if he, who all his life she had loved,
Who received all her devotion to the end
When she finally rested in his arms, forever asleep,
did not know of this great love for certain, then
Of what use is it to love him as much,
and of what use is her love to him?
That one thing she never quite understood: Why.

To Youth

Close your eyes and hold out your arms to fate
As you take the plunge into the unknown.
What do you anticipate? The right answer is

Nothing.

Never expect - it will break your heart,
So much so that not once again will you take a chance.
Never anticipate - the waiting period is long,
The wind chilly, the night silent, all by its lonesome.

Take what you can learn from, and nothing else:

The world is for you to share, not to destroy.
Each fruit is meant for one who needs it - let it go
And take only what you need. It will be enough
for the nourishment of your soul.

Sleep, and dream of things to come, and things that were -

History is a story book from which we lift our lives,
read it, and move on to the next events.
Do not skip to the end - this book holds wonders,
And these wonders are but meaningless fragments
should you decide to end too soon.

Love, but never ask to be loved -

Love is a matter of pride. It will not budge,
Nor will it be forced to reveail itself prematurely, unless
the love is not forced. It must be given in free will,
For that is its very nature - free and unbridled.

Believe everything and nothing around you:

All exist as reality, but not all reality is true,
So be wary - open your eyes to the beauty of the world
and yet question everything in sight.
Let nothing deceive you and pull you down.

Life - it is complicated, true,
And yet simple: it is comprised of
the most basic principles known to man.

Ophelia

Let me but sigh, and do not interfere with my grief,
For it is my doing: I have driven my world insane,
and by doing so I have sealed my fate in sorrow.
Let me but feel the piercing guilt - let me
chastise myself, for I have been playing with fire.
I played with a heart and now that heart
Has dictated the mind to lose sight of reality.

Let me but sigh - I have lost my kin
Because I was wary of an entity that was rapidly
losing grip. The mind, most playful thing, can go blind:
It can fail to see the truth and create illusions
of ghosts and conspiracies and the like.
Let me feel the regret in my actions, and find unrest
in never knowing that someday I will be forgiven.

Let me drown in my despair, for I have no road
Left to undertake, for I have taken one that is bleak.
It leads me to the water, and the water lures me so -
I wish to put an end to this guilt, this suffering.
Or must I? Who am I to decide my fate, as I have
played, and thus decided, the fates of those around me?
I should not be so arrogant, and yet the water summons me..

The Chain

Trapped

in a crevasse, with walls smooth as silk,
lacking the footholds necessary for escape.
‘Tis here I stay, helpless, crippled
by my inability to release myself from life’s trap.

Frustrated

at the world for letting nature abandon me
in my despair. Where is hope when you need it?
As I sit, unable to rise to the surface,
this strong feeling grows immensely - frustration.

Angry

- intense anger consumes my entire being.
No longer can I contain the increasing vexation
nibbling at my feet, asking to be acknowledged
and released at last as legitimate anger.

Fury

is the next step I’ve yet to take,
The step where, when I see the next person
who steps over the crevasse I am in,
I will pull him in with me to suffer for not pulling me out.

The chain will never end.
It will grow in strength and numbers, as it has
in the past. It will grow in intensity,
Until the world is consumed in its wretchedness
And no one is safe.

To Be Moonlike

Once I fell deep into the gaze of the moon,
Captured by its sheer beauty and grace.
“My light is but loaned to me,” she said -
“You should not aspire to be merely the mirror
That relies on some sun’s grace to create your own.”

It was that night my eyes were opened:
All that I knew, my life, my own self -
They were reflections of that greater force around me.
I had no light of my own; I could not shine alone.

Yet I was not disconcerted -

If to be like the moon is to radiate to the world
The positive light I receive,
Then let me borrow that and shine proudly.