Thursday, June 08, 2006
The Lion and the Panther. The Wolf and the Butterfly. The Prince and her Princess. The Angel and the Devil...
I am no Prince, nor am I a Princess. I am not as noble or fierce as the Lion, nor like the elegant silk-wrapped steel that was the Panther. I am not feral and hungry like the Wolf, and I am not as fragile or as cruelly innocent as the Butterfly.
I am no Angel, and I am certainly not the Devil, manipulative as he is.
Then, pray tell, what am I?
The more you deny it, the more it consumes you, becomes you.
I play the Prince to an imaginary Princess in my dreams, run like the graceful Panther in a reality of my own making. I watch, hungry and at the same time disdainful, like the Wolf watching its prey, desiring only to fufill its own needs.
I robe myself in false nobility, taking on the mantle of the strong and fierce Lion, stern and upright. The Angel lights up in my eyes, glowing from within, whispering of past glory and power and of all-consuming, overpowering light and goodness.
And the Devil lurks in my lips, poison-filled but masked by ruby red, pale in a leeching light. Lies pour forth like wine from a shapely vessel, and all who drink from it are dowsed with a lingering spell that sinks their senses and hides the Devil from their sights.
But the Butterfly watches them play in their own right, seeing with sad, cruel, indifferent, caring eyes, her own wings broken, never to fly, fly forth again to dart on the winds. Broken, fragile, a wisp of memory, soft and gentle and oh so very delicate, this Butterfly.
And perhaps, she was the cruellest of them all, for she does not speak, choosing instead to weave and dart just outside of prying eyes, never letting them see, never letting them touch, those poor broken wings on a battered body, fragile strength waiting, asking to be broken, to let her rest for once, to be at peace.
So that the Lion could relax, the Panther could stop running, the Wolf could stop watching from afar, the Prince could stop saving others and become the Princess she should be, the Angel no longer fallen, and the Devil a distant memory.
She's still waiting, for the day the fairytale can become a happily ever after.
Once upon a time, there was a Prince......
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I am no Prince, nor am I a Princess. I am not as noble or fierce as the Lion, nor like the elegant silk-wrapped steel that was the Panther. I am not feral and hungry like the Wolf, and I am not as fragile or as cruelly innocent as the Butterfly.
I am no Angel, and I am certainly not the Devil, manipulative as he is.
Then, pray tell, what am I?
The more you deny it, the more it consumes you, becomes you.
I play the Prince to an imaginary Princess in my dreams, run like the graceful Panther in a reality of my own making. I watch, hungry and at the same time disdainful, like the Wolf watching its prey, desiring only to fufill its own needs.
I robe myself in false nobility, taking on the mantle of the strong and fierce Lion, stern and upright. The Angel lights up in my eyes, glowing from within, whispering of past glory and power and of all-consuming, overpowering light and goodness.
And the Devil lurks in my lips, poison-filled but masked by ruby red, pale in a leeching light. Lies pour forth like wine from a shapely vessel, and all who drink from it are dowsed with a lingering spell that sinks their senses and hides the Devil from their sights.
But the Butterfly watches them play in their own right, seeing with sad, cruel, indifferent, caring eyes, her own wings broken, never to fly, fly forth again to dart on the winds. Broken, fragile, a wisp of memory, soft and gentle and oh so very delicate, this Butterfly.
And perhaps, she was the cruellest of them all, for she does not speak, choosing instead to weave and dart just outside of prying eyes, never letting them see, never letting them touch, those poor broken wings on a battered body, fragile strength waiting, asking to be broken, to let her rest for once, to be at peace.
So that the Lion could relax, the Panther could stop running, the Wolf could stop watching from afar, the Prince could stop saving others and become the Princess she should be, the Angel no longer fallen, and the Devil a distant memory.
She's still waiting, for the day the fairytale can become a happily ever after.
Once upon a time, there was a Prince......
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