Part 3 of 12 of an epic poem. |
Three: The Tormented Sibling Woe to my sister Who has felt many grievous notes And endured such horrors the mind can conjure. She looked to me with so much love, Unknowingly tested my creations, My woven spells. A hapless pawn who knew not From where the torment came. She had tasted my barbed tongue much So cruel the words, That sin itself Was not deserving of such lamentations. A great void my soul was Into which I fed the sorrow Of those tied to me by blood. Like a beast whose hunger grows With every meal, My tormenting worsened. My sister, as such a convenience to me, Received such barbed and poisoned arrows. Thirteen strangled years she suffered My incantations and torturing shadow Under a wing of false shelter. I protected her from nothing And dug out her faith with my bare hands. All the while she looked at me As protectorate. And in her folly, Reached her hand out for help. I, such a fledgling follower, As a final act of betrayal, Took her hand, and led her kindly to the grave. In her final look upon me, Before the coffin was nailed She cast aside her precious ignorance And beheld me as the heretic I was. A mouth filled of wax speaks none, And she settled quickly and loyally Into silent earth. With my great experimenter gone, I left the house like a cold wind. A portion of me had been laid to rest With my unfortunate sister. Though I burned her at the stake To promote my standing within the following I loved and envied her greatly. Her death brought not the joy it should have For our parents looked upon her Beautifully and pitifully. |