(S)He Was Crowned By His Illness

Cloaked in slumberous youth one sleepy day,

As heat from the pavement rises high,

A vision of love seen through rose-colored glass

She thought, “With this rapture can I fly.”

She traveled to a distant place,

A castle in the sun-baked sky,

So began her fall from Grace;

Unbeknownst was Kushiel’s Dart in her eye.

The Rigid One of God — a dark angel from the Hinterland,

Did lay his mark upon her innocence;

Being woefully ignorant of his brand,

She heeded the angel’s call to dance.

Dance she did with naive glee;

Oblivious to rising dejection,

“For I can fix even he,

And make our life a sweet confection.”

One bleak day did she awaken,

To a castle cold, dead, bone-dry;

Upon her head was his crown,

An illness subtle as a susurrus sigh.

As she tore his diadem from her brow

To repudiate the half-dazed dream,

“How could I have been so blind!”,

Echoed in her silent scream.

Kushiel answered in sotto voce,

A soft rumbling in her ear;

“You must give up your lovely lash,

if you wish to be free from here.”

Discernment dawned in her eyes,

Seduced she’d been by self-laid scourge

She had played at pathetic penitence

While chanting her childish dirge.

Guiding her through task and turmoil,

Arm cocked with a fiery whip;

Stood the angel Kushiel,

Ready to strike with a flaming tip.

Stone by stone her chore began,

With torn nails and bloodied hands;

Labored breath, don’t spare the rod…

A torment worthy of the Gods.

6/22/09