The Agony of She


Then, might I stand near unto thee, while it is that this moment mirrors my almost constant state? For dark is my complexion and dark is the cloth that covers my body and dark is the nature of my abode, but dimly viewed. And for this moment, though it may seem that we, from kindred bush, may have been gleaned, I suspect that it is only for a moment that we, this colouring share. For yours shall surely pass, as shall mine... but I am forever left with the lingering stain of this glorious sadness, its pain, its pride uplifted only by the promise of my unconquered soul. Yes, even though our heads may together be battered by the fell circumstance of whatever injuries might have colored me and coloured thee thusly.... we are not bowed down, nor given to it without hope. Thereunto I, perhaps, depart from you... in that I embrace this darkness... as I find its beauty subject unto me, emanating, and not my master emulating… though thorn'ed its pointed measure may within me, truly be. I know not the thorns of your pain, nor how broken your stem, but if they be of a certain course, such as my own... I would, if I could, embrace them from thee... but alas, I fear, that even as I am, but a vision of that same emotion, I accomplish nothing more than to serve grief; lest... in some unforeseen twinkling, my joy being also in this near image, might have shared with you a lighter side of "now." As it is always now... and never yesterday shall be, nor ever tomorrow shall arrive. Therefore, justly now, within this state I stand and it is only this particular "now" that, in my hands, I hold. Though servant still unto thine unfettered power, known as also Love.... I remain the master of my fate. I shall also, it would seem, remain the captain of my soul... Whilst others gain whatever solace from mine own dark image fleeing from my flesh like an ether, I will enjoy what ever fleeting moment this image of me you might, for solace, rather now embrace. And my morrow to my morning light shall bear your pleasant smile. Until some song of sweet forlorn, be sung above my folded hands… I sing my vivid breath. I sing my livid life. I sing the story of a shadowed glory. Let us call it, The Hallowed Agony... of She.

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