Jeanne D' Arc - Vision Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

While a girl, when dining I often had a vision.
I thought I was the dove of Argo that passed
through Sympligades after it immobilised them.

As a teenager, I saw the Archangel and the saints
calling me on duty to set my homeland free.
I knew my wounds would be of purple colour,
like the Charles’ purple uniform at his coronation.

Down the walls of Paris, I heard the First Voice:
Forget the wound, here comes the marvel.

Captured in Compiègne, I heard the Second Voice:
Love your enemy, offer him your water to drink.

Condemned in Rouen, I heard the Third Voice:
‘They will descent you in fire, you’ll ascent on highs.’

Ι’m consumed; not for saving kings and successors,
but for France; I’ll fetch for her the Golden Fleece,
the symbol that Ifighenia looks after for me at Kolhida.

In fire I pray for my candle to last,
as a cypress of homeland that points to sky,
with roots in the deepest fire and divine coolness.


© JosephJosephides