I was condemned
from the first day I saw you.
Bewitched, enamored for ever
by your inexplicable beauty.
Little did I know
where you were to lead me.
I was a slave to Eros,
a fickle love
god aided by his snide piper Pan.
You brought me to your home,
a mansion built for love,
and closed the door on me.
Now I feel a prisoner
inside a gilded cage
besotted with love.
I have no strength to open the door
and fly to freedom.
I am rich.
I have no food.
I'm dead for life:
In the deepest part of my heavy heart
I know
I will find courage to open the cage
but only if I can find true love.
I
'She's only a bird in a gilded cage,'
so a well-known song has once told.
She married a man well advanced in years
for the sake of his riches and gold.
II
The gentleman died, the cage opened wide,
the following verse is untold,
and a very rich chick was off mighty quick
before her dear husband was cold.
When the old fellow died,
the cage opened wide,
and a very rich chick
Madov mighty quick.
Moral strictures aren't always a guide.
Blue bird in a gilded cage:
But not as much as a single whistle from it,
and no piping, not even a proverbial peep,
only deafening silence from behind the bars.
To get the little blue beast to sing!
One plays it a symphony by Dvorak:
Nothing. There's only silence from the bird.
One plays the budgie some Smetana:
Again, nothing but silence from within the cage.
Beethoven then. Surely the Master's music
will get this avian singing again.
Alas, it's all to no avail. One only gets blank stares from the bird.
But, it's time for one last try, hope against hope:
One plays the feathery, captive foil
the Jimi Hendrix Experience, plays their "Still Raining, Still Dreaming":
The budgie suddenly chirps out loud in Martian:
Whistles songs from very far away, yet from very, very near,
and at one and the same time:
Sings, fluting, songs from Everywhere, songs from Nowhere,
songs without limits, ones without an end,
songs sang backwards and forwards at once,
faster than the speed of sound.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Within the Crescent City,
an exotic beauty dwells.
Amid spires and temple domes,
finds the Priestess, Mirabel.
Her hair the color of Raven wings,
almond eyes a sultry brown.
She bears the kiss of Destiny,
upon her face and brow.
Upon the day of her birth,
a beauty mark, small and pink,
At the corner of her eye,
as a flower bud, drawn in ink.
Mirabel had a vision,
at the tender age of fifteen.
After which an open flower,
now, beside her eye was seen.
When Pah-Ja-Rem, the ruler
of Crescent City, heard of Mirabel,
he knew that her visions,
would serve him, very well.
Placed within the Palace strong,
when Mirabel came of age.
Dressed in silks and draped in jewels,
a bird in a gilded cage.
As her visions came to pass,
the flowers bloomed upon her cheek.
They trail upon here shoulders,
on her hips down to her feet.
No longer does the gilding chafe,
Mirabel knows the power visions wield.
For now Mirabel, pulls the strings,
a puppet rulers fate is sealed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Paula Swanson
For the contest: Tell Her Story
Placement: 1st
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