A Cinderella Story

Cinderella’s stepmother fancied herself a scepter                                                                           She never loved poor Cinderella or strove to protect her                                                              Instead she chided, spurnéd, and decided to reject her.

So Cinderella scrubbed the hearth and laved the kitchen floor                                                       Her jovial stepsisters’ antics made her wish for more                                                                     Until one day she said, “Enough! This living is a bore.”

Indeed this was a verity; fairy godmother said,                                                                                   “I augur life will change anon.  Now Cindy, go to bed.”                                                                   But Cindy, with malevolence, formed other plans instead.

Alas, no handsome prince arrived to woo her as his bride                                                               So Cinderella, all alone, was disposed to decide                                                                         She’d improve life by ending one- resort to parricide!

Elza

T’was cruel to betoken the men she ne’er loved;                                                                           Their requests she dismissed as prate,
Because the all-knowing God from up above                                                                             Would assay, then descry, her ill fate.

For Elza thought naught of the men who beseeched
So desperately for her embrace;
All hoping perchance that their aims would be reached;                                                               That she would comply in good grace

E’er relentless men attempt her heart’s myst’ry to solve,                                                             Alas, to no meager avail;
‘Till after long torment congeals their resolve:
Her love is not worth the travail.

Each man who came to the threshold of her heart                                                                       Was met with promise, then disdain.
Fearing feelings for him she’d force them apart;                                                                         Ne’er once did she ponder their pain

Fair Elza deemed love to be fleeting and rare;                                                                             Meant only to importune her,
Thus, when a man would lay his tender soul bare,                                                                       She’d go all lengths to avoid hurt.

In evading the pain that was so sure to come,                                                                                 She deemed all men’s hearts imperv’yus.
The lonely men wallowed in languish and rum;                                                                               Their friends and their kin all quite fyur’yus.

And while crumbling asunder were their spirits,                                                                                A sad madrigal their souls played;
Singing several soft sadistic lyrics,
When Elza’s luck slowly decayed.

With men’s severed souls splayed ‘round her path,                                                                     Elza’s fate for her sins was found.
No longer would she escape God’s mighty wrath;                                                                         She felt the pain of those around.

Among those around her the suff’ring was worse,                                                                         And as it may be predicted;
In avoiding her pain she was caught in a curse;                                                                             One entirely self-inflicted.

Fickle fiera

Fiera, the fairy of fickle mettle,                                                                                                       With hair flaxen as wheat,                                                                                                                   Is mischief’s minion.

She brings the chalice of malice                                                                                                         To the lips of fine folk;
Her wicked merriment.

Fiera, the fairy of games folly,                                                                                                         Believes that surcease of others                                                                                                         Is her divine power.

In hopes of devil’s exaltation,
Fiera curses ladies’ pendent trinkets;                                                                                             Trouble and sin brood.

Fiera, the missive of death,                                                                                                                 Unveiling her cruel plot                                                                                                                   Awaits Satan’s call.

Every thane of Satan                                                                                                                       Must disburse for entry                                                                                                                     Into gates of hell.

Fiera, inflamed with desire,                                                                                                               Will give her due payment                                                                                                                 By forming demons.

Ladies and gentlemen                                                                                                                     Lost in the night’s wassail;                                                                                                               Their fate undecided.

Fiera is sent before Satan,                                                                                                                 A harbinger
But to be naught more.

For fickle fairy Fiera                                                                                                                   Releases trinkets’ curses                                                                                                                   A thane never to be.

Fiera, like the horse
In the adage,
Drinks not from the chalice Of Satan.

An Orphan’s Vengeance

Darkling I watch
Vexed, overwrought
They wring their hands, they offer munificent entreaties, they prattle, they thought                           That I could be fooled.

Ghastly, nauseating churls; how dare they show their faces
In a place so exquisitely created for the pure, the humble, those seeking forgiveness                 His death even now ignites anger; instills an iron resolve
To obtain vengeance.

I will not be impetuous; I will methodically plan
I will ignore the conflagration of the heart and soul                                                                             I will stifle its flaming emotion;
Until Retribution is mine.

I can almost hear their scaly tails slither behind them
They examine my intentions;
I see the narrow pupils in their transfixed eyes; searching mine for clues                                     But I steel my emotions; my eyes are but two black voids
My mind is impenetrable now, hardened “as an Indian-rubber ball”

They leave, sullen, with stiffened necks
I watch them through the casement…they speak in low, urgent tones
The sky has become velvet; sequined with burning diamonds…
I see them and have hope
This time, they were unsuccessful
There was once an age when I would have been tempted; would have been drawn in                 But I was quickly cloyed.

My brother was not. He joined for glory for money, for distraction… I know not.                             My brother ignored the fundamental teachings we have both been taught
He ignored my desperate pleas, my fervent; then angry, warnings
For ablution and forgiveness, for hearing God’s clear message

I tried in vain
But the Devil is sly and cunning.

Now my brother is in his eternal bed
I know not where his soul has strayed
But I will live only for revenge;
Then I shall join with him and ferry his lost soul to heaven.