To Calm A Daughter [part V] Poem by Lum Chabot

As couple awoke next morbid morn
Fire-sun gazed upon pale skin with mocking scorn
At parents’ deeds- or lack thereof,
But to flee and hide precious dove-
To make safe a home for daughter dear,
A home where she may spend happy years,
A place from danger, free she can be
A place provided by he and she.

So mother and father without hesitation,
Traversed hallways to calm daughter’s trepidation,
And to prepare for peregrination, escaping evil indignation,
Preparing all needed trephination
In order to leave hellish, heinous nation.
The three first sook* consolation,
For they would be escaping indoctrination,
But also home and condemnation.
*Sook: archaic sounding for seeked.

And so they left horrid place
And they left also hawkish race,
Ne’er to return to hell absurd,
Back down through mystic Well of Urd.
They found small home near painted Seine,
The great red river in time of peasant Reine,
And now a peaceful life they did begin,
A life with sincere grins, deprived of sin.

War raged on and around them still,
Debauch common as pastries on midwife’s sill,
Libertines in Paris breathed through fish-like gills
Of society, yet parents had will
To surpass plenty of gentry on rotting hill
To raise daughter apart from slaughter in hallowed mill.

But daughter soon became restless, pity
Enwreathed her from animals near, litany
Given by father to calm his child,
Her constant trepidation anything but mild.
Past father’s claret upon trephination
Which fought to change her life, ending conflagration
Before it started; that awful feast
Of souls on All Hallows’ Eve, when released are beasts.

Nightmares of psychic origin plagued her,
And litany provided no sure cure
For her distress, her flowery dress
Tainted by dirt, her heart a mess
So asked did she one night in bed,
A story from parents devoid blood red;
Parents obliged and sighed for pride
In their child helped lengthen stride.

Two paramours asked for a moment of thought,
So that they could ensure story was not
Filled with relevant incoherencies,
And was deprived of overwhelming despondency,
To childhood rhymes they returned thence,
To epic abridged but still made sense,
A story they both did remember clear,
The story of Willow and his queen so dear.

They skipped clichés to dive right
Into story from childish light;
With sleight of mind they intrigued daughter benedight,
And insight to feeling they might
Harder try to provide daughter clear sight…
The story told as follows was to cure younglife plight.

“Willow was a Wretchéd One,
A Demon Renard*, cast out by Nordic Sun,
Fellow Demons saw him an asset,
Others saw him as a reset
To the older life, where God’s Reign
Kept all Wretchéd living in disdain,
Others still deemed him reason to live,
Infatuations caused Willow to siv*.
*Renard: French for fox
*Siv: to shiver to keep something emotionally at bay.

Soon one-eyed gods deemed
The Demons unfit to rule their seams
Of the fabric of humanity.
At this, Demons lost rationality
And war began ‘twixt heaven and
Between, such an epic would be told by future bands,
For Demons fought with valour, gods with deceit
And gods remained on top of heavenly seat.

Morbid, not sordid, alive, still
End so close, for Willow, but conjured the will
To live on, though body torn,
He wandered forgotten planes, scorn
From malevolent gods besotted his heart,
And in that heart no fire did start
As old comrades came with shared disdain
And a plot to coup the kings, but claimed and acted in vain.

Midst blizzard in such Northern places,
Willow collapses, carmine running, seeing faces
Of those he slew in malicious chases,
In days when maleficents ruled the races,
Sentries and gentry no longer in ruling bases,
Snowflakes’ touch like the strike of maces.

He knew not how long he laid there,
But soon lost will in snowy air,
Succumbed to vices and visions that seemed so true:
Many scenes he passed too swiftly to enjoy the view…
That was when she, so blissful, full of glee
Saw him in her wanderings free, was shocked at first but took him to sea
Of ice and snow, her beautiful home,
Melancholy for her for she’d been alone.

In personal ice chamber she placed him,
Upon warm bed so he could rest and she fulfill recovering whims,
Though unconscious he remained, dreams stained with remains
Of poor souls he had slain…
Though this past was to her a mystery;
She often had bouts of soliloquy:
Open wonderings about his past,
But to his looks she came one day at last.

She wondered what he was, as she looked at him there,
Lilies with stems of black, green, ad red, growing in the air
He wafted, and chest looked lithe, like that of an elf,
Though that alone would not betray his self,
For pointy, black-tipped ears, and black covered paws had he,
Red-orange tinted fur covered all she could see,
But most distinct feature upon him,
Was the three fox tails, ever so slim.

She gave him care to rival those of divinity,
And he did wake up eventually,
He asked where he was absently;
She answered safe from propinquity
Of evil gods who now rule the sea
Of planes and prevent deceit.

He asked her name and her story
Of what happened in long past history,
Personal in nature, sad in theme,
As she described her past scenes,
But before all this,
Present history before perhaps quixotic bliss,
She had been, in her race, nouveau né,
And her vampyric name was Renée.

Following tale she then spun:
“This began long before recent war was fought and won;
Began with my birth five centuries past,
Into race of which I am the last,
People infused with chill of snow,
But secret only they’d known,
My skin was always pale, my hair tinted blue,
I was confused, and then the fangs grew.

Century passed and I was abused
By those who wanted to misuse
Me, those wounded in ancient war wanted my special gift
For greed and power so through society sift
Did they through society’s binds,
To corrupt perfectly moral minds,
To abuse and use my gift for avarice,
But all that came was pure malice.

My gift is special you see, lavender ice
Running through my veins was clawed at by vice
For life-giving is it when out of nice
Feelings of my heart, willing must I be; precise
For if I’m not, many would pay the price:
That of death and place infiltrated by mice.

Soon all became corrupt and fell
To sweet taste of my blood I was unwilling to sell,
And so I’m last member of my race,
For four centuries I’ve lived and loathed this place…
Female isolationist, in this lonely palace,
For I have wanted to keep from malice,
And you’re first soul I’ve seen in years,
Since death of my people left me in tears.”

“I am sorry for misfortune, ” he said,
“but what is the name of the woman in who’s bed
I have been in, ” he humbly inquired.
“Ô, pardonne moi. I had aspired
To tell you my name but was lost in my tale,
Renée is my name, ” and then she went pale.
“And your name is…, ” as she flushed with a grin,
“Willow” he replied, “the epitome of sin.”

“Now why introduce in a manner like that”
She thought with her voice; he offered shoulder a pat.
“I will explain who I am for you have a right to know
Who’s taking your bed and living in woe,
I’ll begin my tale as you did with yours,
In infancy, though mine begins before all the wars.
I was born no one knows where,
To last of two species, who soon after returned to air.

As a child I practiced thievery, you see
And to verdant sea of trees
I would retreat where breeze
Would satisfy my leaves,
Those of lilies growing from me…
This forest and child demon’s life a mystery.

No bedtime stories I had heard,
And grew up did I without hearing a word
Of advice or pleasantry,
My childish heart so keen to see
Threat to him and to his world,
And then razor wings unfurled,
To fight oppression from being feigning grace,
And to scar even most divine face.

I aged and came to company of those of questionable ideals,
Rebels against the state of real
Directors bent on their own gain,
Rebels against gods who need be slain,
And so to war feverous, renewed I went,
Leader of many whose lives were spent
In vain, for succeeded we did not,
And to get revenge I will do aught.”

She saw the passion in blue unlike any
She had ever seen; they number many,
Though not for a time had she seen so clear
That which she sought for all her years,
But emotion locked, fixed on wielding fate
To those his heart did fully hate,
But she resolved to change his ways:
Eyes won her with unintentional gaze.

She closed hers and was pierced by eyes,
Her gaze was black under lids, wise
Azure stare set on blazing fur, colour of demise
Of gods who can not surmise
A plot to end them, no reprise
In choirs of angels, just insipid red surprise.

“Rest now please, I’ve kept your awake
For too long, so rest well for your sake, ”
She asked of him, and bowed to her whim
He did. “Merci, Renée, ” he said as light began to dim,
And so the cycle continued for days and weeks,
Talking and rest until Willow recovered from his state so weak,
Though when he did, leave did he not,
For now he had much more than naught.

One night he could not sleep,
And Renée came to him in a weep,
He held her close, cold piercing to the bone,
But would not have her stay alone,
So laid down with her did he,
And pressed her head to chest and she
Looked up through bleary, teary eyes into
Eyes calm, belovéd, and eternally blue.

No tears bedizened his eyes, though countenance
Display confusing look, his resonance silenced
Her, though she wanted to speak,
She found her voice was too weak,
He asked, “What is it my dear? ”
She managed to mumble, “I am afeared*,
For desires in my heart are many,
And of them you may never hear any.”
*Afeared: plagued by fear.

“Please make it known to me these things you’ll not let me see
Directly, those residings of your heart that I’m desiring.” She
Quoth responsorial, “I shall, to you now, profess to thee
Ornate longings kept beneath my bosom warm, a sea
Ebbed long ago, now flowing, water lackluster now lacking, abundancy
Of affection for you I have hidden in attempted secrecy”

Stunned was he, though given new meaning
To phrase “Weeping Willow”, for the first time feeling
Blurred vision and sent him blearing, teary-
Eyed he looked at her in awe, weary
For now full burden he felt in his chest,
He managed a whisper before traveled did he to rest:
“If you are saying that to me your heart you’ve given,
Then you I shall, with my heart, bedizen.”

Willow rested then, for how long he knew not,
Though in his dreams he was afraught*
Of desire to find that which he’d ne’er
Had before, but of this he knew naught, ‘ere
Then he never had reason to search… then he awoke
And found chill next him, chill that would stroke
His luscious fur, and warm desire,
That made heart sing with heavenly choir.
*Afraught: to have something that causes distress, usually a mindset.

Eyes opened to what he longed for so long;
Though lids closed as he listened to quiet song,
Warm fur next to skin of ice,
Taken from thoughts that engage in vice,
Slowly lids open to look at her,
Her beauty as the queen of snow and blizzard’s blue,
So he pulled her gently close to him,
As through his veins she began to swim.

Revenge slowly slipped his mind,
And yielded and unbelievable find,
That which he truly sought he’d mined
With help of “woman, ” who along winds
Beneath the skin: to him consigned
Her life, as though a contract was signed.

And so he left old dark ways old,
And moved on to new life, not so bold
As one prior, but more befitting,
The couple lives still, sitting
On the top of the world, their icy throne
Happy enough for them both, neither alone,
Now their tale ends my dear,
Sleep now and no more tears.”

Daughter asleep, father returned with wife
To bed so rest they could get for another day of life,
But father could not sleep, disturbed was he,
For a presence he felt arrive whilst telling story;
So when wife entered dreams
Outside he went to see if what he seemed
Was there in truth was- and to his dismay,
There were members of his old way.

They began and they quoth, “We need thee again-”
“What’s wrong, ” he cut them off… “When? ”
He asked them, for conversation was mainly with eyes,
One he knew all too well and always met with sighs…
In domain he went to letter write,
And then to leave used all his might,
To descend back into place of dark deeds;
First words back to usurpers: “Thine eyes shall bleed.”

Battle ensued, between rebels and hierarchists,
And names of those defeated added to casualty lists,
Lengthy were they, but bath was short, for blades hissed
Through ethereal, but something afterward visst* his heart,
Something seen but not witnessed,
Family was slain in the nighttime mist.
*Visst: impacted in a stinging manner.