Inescapable Endings

We’ve made it to the twenty-fifth entry in my song-inspired poem series! This one is, I suppose, a sort of fairy tale subversion – but, I can’t lie, as well as the song that inspired it (‘The One’ by Elena Siegman and Kevin Sherwood), I did have Shrek at the forefront of my mind while writing it. Although, as you’ll see, it does take a somewhat darker turn by the end of the poem. In any case, I hope you enjoy reading this one!

First Poem In This Series: To Witness, To Behold, inspired by ‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ by Tears For Fears

Previous Poem In This Series: My Orchestra, inspired by ‘Soul On Fire’ by Spiritualized

Inescapable Endings

Crumbling stone and lava moats:
you know the scene, the details,
how to fill it in, from crayon
to pencils sharpened to comical points
and now pen–a graduation, of sorts–
but let us return to those twisting,
architecturally impossible peaks.

One slit window, carved
as if with unusual care,
so that her eyes can peek
out–to tease the world
waiting outside, beyond
the screaming cry
of her scaled guard.

Here, she languishes;
imagine the appearance,
and twist it with age,
depression, decay–
give centuries of isolation
a try, and see how your brow
forms a film of dust.

He arrives, his blade glinting,
or perhaps the barrel
of some automated machinery
of war–the details,
as we have discussed,
are your domain; connect
the dots, as he approaches.

Leaping over scorching lakes
and sidestepping slashes
from impossibly long talons–
or do you call them claws?–
he ascends, and she watches
as little she can, from her perch,
her heartbeat mimicking his footsteps.

And when his hand is on the door,
she imagines a slow creak,
a gasp of surprise–pleasant surprise,
I will take that detail from you–
and the slow steps that will take her
forward, into the rest of her life,
so far from this punishing eternity.

She imagines this, because the truth–
the sudden gust of ash-laden air,
the battle cry, the sprinting,
clanking, adrenaline-heavy steps–
only fulfil a story she has detested
from the first time she remembers
opening her eyes… but here we are.

I must take the pen, as he raises
his weapon of choice, and she feels
the pang of eventuality, certainty,
ending, and it is not a silent finale;
we will spare her dignity, and leave
her final moments suspended, because
the material, flesh and blood, is immaterial.

It is the feeling, the acknowledgement
that the pages, already written,
have turned, and that all she waited for,
so patiently, was little more than fantasy–
that is the hollow note upon which she dies,
far before the battle is over; it is cruel,
yes, but it must be witnessed… by you.

And now, you must remember, because she
will only breathe again within your mind.

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