literature

Lepidoptera Tristis

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I
Requiem


Oh, how atrocious Fate must be
To allow this stygian event to pass.

What god would suffer
Such a horrid affair to occur?

As if the loss of our angel,
Whose thread of gold that is life
So ruthlessly severed by the abhorred shears
Of the pallid, relentless Atropos,
Was not punishment enough.

Tell us, oh Holy Father,
With what have we earned this castigation?
What heavy sins of ours incited
This scourging of our hearts and souls?

Where perished Thy love for us,
Whom you created in Thy image?

Why did my sullen butterfly deserve
To emerge from her cocoon of death,
In the form of a demonic spawn
From the darkest pits of Hell?
She should have been at peace,
A sleeping beauty,
Until the trumpets of Judgment day
Disturbed her serene slumber.

That mild and frail being,
That beautiful butterfly,
My angel…
She should have remained dead,
Left to rest in peace
Until the seventh angel sounds the trumpet,
And awakes her from the nightmare
That is death.

II
The Funeral

Did that ominous day arrive,
When the mighty and immaculate God
Committed a mortal sin
By breaking the rule which He imparted us
Centuries before the birth of His son,
And out of selfishness
Bereaved us of one of the mortal angels
From this ever-darkening earth
So that He could take her for Himself,
To enjoy her and her joys.

Oh, damned Fate,
Is this dreadful day reality?
Is it not a mere nightmare
From which I will soon wake,
bathed in sweat and tears?

Is it possible
That her smile I will not see
Until my soul escapes
From this prison of flesh and bones,
And soars to the gates of heaven
To witness her beauty
For a moment at least?

This terrible tragedy
Has seized my forlorn heart
Like the most poisonous viper,
Releasing her bitter venom
To surge through my weakened body,
Consuming my life's joy
And slowly smothering my dreams and desires
Which are extinguished at last on this ill-fated day.

What monster could rip apart
Such a precious creature,
Whose beauty and kindness
Was equal to those of angels'
High in heaven,
On which even they
Cast their eyes full of scorn
Whilst admiring her grace.

Like a pallid marble statue
I'm watching over her grave,
That sinister pit in which they are
Lying the broken body of my angel.
I'm Watching with eyes gray as the skies,
Moments from shedding tears.

Drowned in the sullen crowd
That came to say farewell to my love,
Slumberingly I stare at her coffin
Recalling our long departed happiness
And listening to the vigorous words of the priest,
Describing her and her brief life.

A cold drop of February rain,
That fell on my tear-covered face,
Awoke me from my plaintive slumber.
I raised my eyes towards her parents,
Who still watched in disbelief
The coffin of their daughter,
Caught by the cruel claws of Fate.

I clearly saw
The grief, disappointment and pain
In their eyes.
Bitter tears slid as pale wraiths
Down those wrinkled faces.

Besides the parents of my lady,
In that somber crowd, I saw him.
That mysterious man,
Whom I first layed eyes upon
On that unhappiest of days.

Tall and draped in black,
He did not mourn
This rueful loss,
But instead stared coldly
At my angel's resting place
As if expecting something,
Slowly building up horror inside me
With His singular appearance.

***

He looked barely over forty years of age
With his long, wan face full of wrinkles and scars.
I saw him today for the first time in my life,
In front of her parents' house,
Before my angel's funeral.
He was sitting on a stone wall
Whilst writing something in his notebook,
Watching all the while
Out of the corner of his eye
The sorrowful house.

From a safe distance,
From my beloved's bedroom,
I watched him
Through the dimmed window
As he kept writing on.

Suddenly,
As I watched, mesmerised,
His eerie art take shape,
He raised his head
And looked me straight in the eye.

In the moment when those draconic eyes
Met mine, terrified as they were,
My body was whipped
By some strange deviltry,
Petrifying my legs,
Holding me in place.

I stood there still as a statue,
Still as I am now, as I bury my lady,
As he watched me
With those frightening eyes.
After a few moments,
He dropped his bewitching gaze
And the spell over me vanished.

The mysterious figure
Looked at me again,
Then dropped from the low wall
And tore a page from his notebook,
Throwing it on the cold frosty ground.

He cast one last glance towards me,
Smiled a devilish smile,
And, with the mien of a true lord,
Took a bow,
And walked off into the mist
That shrouded that house of sorrow.

As soon as the mysterious figure
Vanished in the thick fog,
I rushed out of the house as a fury,
To pick up the discarded paper
That lay on the ground,
Waiting for me to take it.

With frozen fingers,
I straightened out the crumpled page,
Which had already started to soak in
The misty morning's dew.

It was a poem,
The words melancholic and dark,
The sorrow and pain they emanated
Too similar to my own.
The words on that piece of paper
That I read that morning
Are etched deeply into my heart,
Not allowing me to ever forget them.

***

To this day,
No one has ever seen him,
And no one ever shall,
From this day forth.
The ghastly poet
In a coat of darkest night,
His face expressionless,
His eyes not moving from her casket.

The ghastly poet,
Looking at me again
With his draconic gaze,
Locking me in place,
Binding me,
Bewitching me,
Just as he did this morning,
Forcing me to stand over her grave
Like a stone angel,
Watching helplessly the birth
Of a new, terrifying life.

The ghastly poet,
Smiling at me again
With his demonic grin.

The ghastly poet,
Who did not recoil in fear
As the rest of the crowd,
When the bang was heard
From inside the coffin.

He stayed in place,
As unmoving as me,
And on his face
There flashed once again
The devil's smile.


III  
Fear and Disbelief

Hearing that dreadful noise
From inside the casket,
A rush of unnamed fear
Surged through every fiber of my being.

In my mind, I cursed
The ghastly poet and his deviltry
That forced me to stand as unmoving
As a graveyard statue,
And to watch, completly weak & powerless,
A sight I will never be able
To banish from my thoughts.

I looked at him for a moment,
I looked into those callous eyes
That awaited impatiently the development
Of that stygian event,
And in that accursed moment
His eyes turned towards me.
As a noose, that unnamed fear
Seized my heart again,
That fear rushed through my veins,
Inciting the dreadful feeling
That he was looking in my heart & soul.

In that very moment,
For the first time in my life
I felt the horror of eternal doom.
That fear has not left me since.

All around me and the mysterious stranger,
Still standing by her open grave,
The frightened host moved away
In slow, unnerved steps.

From the heavy oaken casket,
Where her body lay, a lifeless shell
Deprived of any trace of spirit,
There came a heavy banging, full of agony,
That grew stronger and more horrendous
With every passing moment.

With every terrible knock,
The faces of the baffled and frightened crowd
Grew paler and paler.

At every desperate hit on the casket's lid,
The swarming multitude would draw back,
Trying, in vain, to scream with fear.

My terror-filled heart
Beat in perfect synchronicity
With the grotesque rhythm of the knocks
Coming from the other side
Of the wooden doors of death.

Sable clouds covered the sun,
Extinguishing the miserable remains
Of gloomy daylight that still lingered
On this dark hallowed ground.

The bangs from the coffin were accompanied
By the faraway roars of thunder,
Foreshadowing the coming of a cold storm
That approached menacingly,
And filled people with a dreadful chill,
Creating thus this eerie symphony
Of fear and disbelief.

IV  
The Birth of a New, Abominable life

The lid of the casket opened,
And the crowd screamed with terror,
and drew back in fear.

They covered their mouths
With shaking hands,
Hiding the disgust
Of what they had just witnessed.

In that coffin,
There lied she.
My love,
My fallen angel,
Mea lepidoptera tristis.

Her pallid, worn face
Was covered in streams of tears
Shed in greatest agony.

The wretch's green eyes watched her mother
Screaming with terror that befell her.

They were watching the priest
As he aspersed her with holy water,
Hoping to banish the damned spirit
From her possessed body,
Which shivered like a willow switch
In the cold autumn twilight.

Seeing her worn, pain-creased face,
Most of the crowd turned and ran,
Shouting of evil being born on hallowed ground,
Of evil releasing itself
From the cold embrace of death.

I tried, in vain, to turn,
to move my gaze from that shadowy rebirth,
But the poet's deviltry
Had still not released me from its clutches.
Or was it merely fear that paralysed me,
Leaving me to stand there,
Watching that ominous pit,
Hypnotised by her tearful eyes,
That darted around, puzzled and amused.

The terrified father grabbed his wife,
Who could not yet fathom
The infernal event occuring
Before their eyes,
And began to lead her slowly away
From the abomination
That now occupied the grave
In which his daughter had lain
Not so long ago,
And which was just now
Starting to comprehend where it was.

My angel's shuddering lips
Were trying to form a word,
Trying to scream,
In the hope that the shrill sound
Would free her from the nightmare
That held her captive.


V
The Beauty and the Poet

The ghastly poet, in a coat of darkest night,
Stood proudly before her grave,
Looking at the coffin
In which the bewildered maiden lay,
In which the love of my life lay,
Shivering in the cruel cold.

Their eyes met,
Her full of resentment,
His filled with hatred.

In that very moment,
As they confronted each other
Before the final end
Of this grotesque nightmare,
I noticed on his pale face
And in his cold eyes
A trace of emotion.

I saw him, his expression pensive,
His thoughtful eyes remembering,
Watching the accursed body of an young girl.

With those wistful eyes, he looked at me,
And he reached inside his coat
And pulled out a revolver.
Then, still watching me,
His pensive eyes never leaving mine,
While I stood there, my face rigid,
Expecting the worst,
He fired towards my angel,
Once, twice, three times.
With sacred bullets,
He pierced her fragile body.
With sacred bullets to redeem
Her possessed body,
So that the imprisoned soul
Of my lost love
Soars free to the gates
Of the Kingdom of Heaven.

He fired in the name
of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
In Their hallowed name he shot my angel,
On whose white dress now crept
A dark red stain,
Whose body now convulsed in agony,
Burning above the wicked fires of hell,
Crying, and cursing the god
Who punished her with such a dreadful fate.

Because of the severe pain
That struck my heart and soul,
I fell on my knees,
Crying for my love,
Cursing that monster
That still watched me with
Those wistful eyes.

The remains of the crowd,
Those who stayed behind
Out of morbid curiosity,
Now stood still as statues,
Calm faces unmoving,
As they watched the development
Of this stygian play.


On the dreadful poet's face,
That trace of emotion grew still.
His eyes filled with tears,
Tears for the poor creature he shot,
Whose breath grew colder and weaker.

Cold sweat now covered his face,
And the hand, holding the revolver,
Started to shiver.

Releasing the last breath
Of her short new life,
She shrieked in agony,
Hoping that the terrible scream
Would wake her from
The morbid nightmare
That is consuming her.

The shrill shriek, sharp as a sword,
Marked the souls
Of everyone who heard it,
Leaving them forever scarred,
Never to forget
This darkest hour of their lives.

As she screamed,
Her mouth opened
revealing bloody fangs.

Seeing that,
The rest of the crowd
Cried out in terror and ran,
Praying for salvation
With horrified sobs.


The poet turned towards her
With a demonic grin,
And in a deep voice, he whispered:
- Goodbye, my beauty… -,
Just as he fired again, three times,
In the name of the Father,
The Son, and the Holy Ghost.


VI
Death

The body of my fallen angel
Convulsed with the last strength
Of its accursed new life.

Three dark stains,
Dark as a starless night,
Appeared on her blood-smeared dress.

From her six wounds,
Inflicted by sacred bullets
In the name of the Holy Trinity,
A wicked black smoke arose,
Clouding our sights and minds.

Blinded by the black curtain,
I stood unmoving over her grave,
That sinister pit,
Waiting for the rays of the dying sun
To break through the suffocating smoke.

While I mourned the tragic fate
Of my life's love,
Of my maiden fair,
within the embrace of the black curtain
That slowed time to prolong my suffering,
The rays of the setting sun
Started to pierce the dark curtain,

The thick, wicked smoke
That had started slowly to recede
In this cold dusk,
Vanishing finally with my angel,
Whose body was not in her coffin,
In its place only black soot.

The ghastly poet used
The dark curtain of smoke
To vanish from this
Desecrated hallowed ground.

I stood there, alone,
Like an angel made of stone,
Over the empty grave of my beloved,
Mourning this tragedy
And cursing our treacherous god.

When the sun had finally set
Behind the western fields,
A cold night's reign began,
And the moonlight
Shone on her grave
With its pale silver beams.

I wiped the tears from my face,
Turned around and left
That dreadful site,
Hoping that Fate will never again
Bring me to this forsaken place.
Love's golden arrow
At her should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart
To strike Her dead...
- My Dying Bride, For My Fallen Angel
Comments13
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ZdenaH's avatar
Reminds me of E. A. Poe!!! (Kind of)