“Forgiveness, I beg, I can only speak in terza rima”
“What? This is absurd...”
“No, this is hell, bellissima
I may by many be abjured
but the Archpoet I am
immortal verse I have conjured
words that none can dam
call it a curse, or a blessing
up from the abyss I swam
but pardon me, I'm digressing”
Alice, bewildred, saw the world
turn into verse, repressing
her fear as it all downward swirled
into spirals of letters, sound
and ghostly shapes, unfurled
against dissolving ground,
with cold and flame beneath,
shining in stillness profound.
The Archpoet, crowned with wreath
wore robes of velvet, red and black
she glimpsed linen underneath
the clothes were torn, a copper plaque
around his neck was green with age
it seemed nothing would bring back
it's luster, nor Alice's rage
so shabby he looked, so pitiful
this man, a poet, maybe a sage
that she could only feel grateful
to have met someone as sad as she
as hopeless, as pathethic, just as dull
yet there was splendor, one had to agree
in his bearing, in his eyes and in his verse.
“Please could you stop this? You may decree
your poetry is great, but it's so horrible a curse,
wherever I go, or rather, crawl, everything's so weird
and now it's like a trip on drugs, just getting worse”.
“Alas, I cannot, though this I feared,
my verse has long since seeped into the foundation,
echoing in the void, by scattered ghosts revered
yet none give me mercy, nor adoration”.
“I just wanna see this scary fucking place
become remotely sane again, this strange fixation
of yours is not helping the haze
in my mind to clear. I'm afraid and confused,
alone and lost, can't pick up my pace
my feet are hurt and my body bruised
can you, pretty please, stop this shit and help me? “
“As you are here, you have by Lord above been refused
but there is hope, bellissima, and I will aid thee
if I may, of all beings here, great and small,
I alone have met the sage under the Banyan tree
passed the gates of heaven, and above all,
wandered here through every pit and terror.
But 'tis no child's play, mayhap we'll only forestall
your fate. Yet there may have been an error
for a maiden fair and pure I see, like long ago in heaven”.
“Fair? I wouldn't wanna look into a mirror
I'm probably hideous cranked up to eleven”.
Alice shrugged, feeling tears well up yet again,
wanting to cry like when she was seven.
“So tell me”, she begged, “I might be insane
but I think I got murdered, oh, God
I said it, still hope I'm on cocaine
or just beaten senseless with a rod.
But I guess I should face it
and get to the point, though this maybe odd.
My sister will miss me, she might throw a fit
I'm always a wreck, but don't just disappear
She sure will go looking, licketysplit.
Someone, no something, will hurt her I fear
I don't know why, or, wait, I do
just cannot face it, my memory’s so unclear
I need to find her, make sure she'll pull through
that she'll be safe and sound and not too mad.
Then I can endure this fucking mind screw
Whatever might happen, I know I've been bad”.
She paused in the darkness, sobbing a while
regaining composure, though she was sad.
Her body still ached, a feeling so vile
was in her throath, blood and grime,
her shirt all smeared, but maybe a smile
was in order, it wouldn't be a crime
to try and be hopeful, think one positive thought
after all, the world had turned to rhyme.
What utter wierdness this Poet had brought
but he was here, her only friend, no choice
but to trust him; not the time to be disraught.
“So can you help me?”, she asked with meek voice.
“Tell me your desire, and I will do what I can”.
“If I could talk to my sister, my heart would rejoice.
One time is enough, it's not like I wanna go to Iran
she can't be that far, it can't be that hard?”
“No easy task would it be, not for any man
but I do know a way, though normally barred
If you love her enough, it can be done.
So tell me; do you hold her in high regard?”
“She's my twin, for fuck's sake, I love her like none
but it's complicated, we've argued a lot
I'm such a failure, she's always had me outdone”.
Alice sighed, a quick spell of jealousy, burning hot
went through her, she clenched her fist.
“Love will triumph all that evil has wrought”
the Archpoet said, standing tall in the mist
that came crawling from the odd lights below.
“In this conviction you must persist”
“I'll do my best. Now can we go?"
Alice said impatiently, rather freaked out
by dissolving surroundings, the unholy glow
that was shining and flickering all throughout
the vast and surreal void of embodied verse
that the Archpoet's presence had brought about.
"Yes my lady, but dangers we'll have to traverse;
undying horrors, hellfire and ice,
so, can you walk?" His voice was terse.
"I don't know, will limping suffice?
I'll give it a try, just take my hand".
She awkwardly rose, stumbling twice
her feet hardly hurt, she found she could stand
as if she had healed, or forgotten the pain.
She took some small steps, nothing too grand,
feeling sand between her toes, a sudden smell of rain
in the air, as the glow was swallowed by shadows.
"We must leave, bellissima, no time to explain"
The Archpoet looked afraid. "For many morrows
we won't be safe, and something is approaching.
An Ember Lord, of ten thousand sorrows".
He grabbed Alice's arm, dragging her stumbling
through the whirling sands as a rain began to fall,
softly at first, then gushing down, hailing
not wrought of water, but fire and blood and gall,
burning as it hit them, set their clothes ablaze.
The Archpoet stopped, engulfed in a flaming ball.
Alice screamed, her legs giving in, falling sideways
as her friend lost his grip, burning and writhing.
She looked around her in panicked daze
saw water in a rift below, forming from nothing.
But it seemed so far, and cold, deep without end.
Yet behind her, a shadow was looming,
vast and dire, lit by the flames of her burning friend.
It was her it wanted, she had no idea why,
she just knew it. This was no time to pretend
she wasn't in terrible danger. Things might go awry,
(as if they hadn't already, and disastrously so)
but she had to make a choice, she had to try
so she got up, grabbed The Archpoet's elbow,
though it burnt, and jumped with him off the edge,
fainting as she hit the water, far below.
"I mustn't die"; her final, desperate pledge.
En sak jag reagerar på är verbformerna. ”Basunen ljuda”, ”Sol skina” och så vidare. Är det ett ungdomligt försök till gammalsvenska (i äldre svenska är det ju ”basunen ljuder” men ”basunerna ljuda”), eller en uppmaning (”MÅ basunen ljuda”) eller något annat?
