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hso2012_r3s12012-07-21 07:03 pm
arctickayla) wrote in hso2012_r3s12012-07-21 07:03 pm
Poem and Illustrations: By Your Light (Alpha!Dave♥Alpha!Rose)
Summary: Two sestinas interspersed with illustrations that chronicle Dave and Rose's revolution.
Characters: Alpha!Dave Strider, Alpha!Rose Lalonde
Ships: Alpha!Dave♥Alpha!Rose
Category One:
Tags Present: None
Tags Not Used: No Cat.1 tags used.
No other Cat.1 tags apply.
Category Two:
Tags Present: None
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No other Cat.2 tags apply.
Additional Tags (Optional): Minor Blood used in an abstract manner
1.
All night she kept moving through
the deaths of stars, gold, black, rose,
ash in oceans, singing. Somewhere a break,
a chasm, a place always drinking up light.
She sits up with blood in her throat, each time
nearer. Sunset: eyes closed, curtains drawn.
Thirteen nights thinner she was drawn
like the bright needle of God through
whole bolts of the fabric of space and time.
A stillness, clouds of eyes. Their voices rose
and closed over her. Salt, ice, a sinking, no light.
Darkling darling, it’s your eggshell to break.
Waiting for the dream or the fever to break
he will not sleep until she wakes. He has drawn
the sheet back up all night. Flashes of light
under her eyelids. She said I broke through.
Her face holy and mad. I know. She rose
not his own, not for the last time.
She moves on the surface tension of time
like a Halobates. A skin she can’t break
but bruise. A vicious love her compass rose.
A glitter on the waters. Again the plans drawn
shatter and dissolve. Damn you, come through.
Anchor the strand, the thread on which to light.
Only their names. His voice light
as snow. As though there’s ever a time
to show a man his children run through.
Tauten the strings until they break.
Guess and bluster. She will not be drawn.
Red lightning, her daughter’s heart a wet rose.
Through the alleys the waters rose.
Wrappers, cholera, oil, reflected light.
An open sky. Sword and needles drawn
against a black hole who has outlived time.
They are two blades that will not break.
Less than twenty minutes and it’s through.
ROSE: Never world enough or time. Never. A splinter
of light that closes. The one contract we can’t break,
drawn up unconsenting. My hand, love. Lead me through.
2.
A smell of rust for miles. Iron oxides give
a look of slumgullion to the falls.
He follows, terrified, over the edge
as with perfect faith. All in white she stands
like a spear of bone on her raft. They swing past
to wrench the needles out of the dead face.
That five-card Texas hold ’em face.
Tinted windows. Interviewed, he’ll never give
the same answer twice. Gently, drifting past
the hotel balcony, a clot of pixels falls.
So really, the flight of stairs always stands
for socialism? Yes, there’s your edge.
He braces the bottle on the table’s edge
and opens a toast to her Nebula. Her face
a paper lantern at dusk. Small hours: he stands
at the black window. What he would not give.
Bitten lip, bowed head. Into the river the sleet falls.
The present eroding into the silt of the past.
Carpets congealed with sugar and mold. Once past
the sniper on the stairs, simple. He tests the edge
on his thumb, then on them. Half a President rolls, falls
and spatters below. Grease-paint has made the face
a skull already. The flag flares and catches. He will give
no quarter to the republic for which it stands.
He bought the building to ensure it stands
to inherit his son. Puppets, Fanta: long past
denying he owns little but trouble to give.
The last inhabitant, he lies near the roof’s edge,
fingers tapping, a thin sunset lining his face.
Soft tar, an eddy of feathers as night falls.
A gull hits her aura like a window and falls.
White cat, white dragon, like that dawn’s stands
of birches along I-40. Always harder to face
waiting than action. The warm wind comes past
and moves the stiff cloth at the wound’s edge.
Not the bravest nor last the world had to give.
DAVE: Every empire falls. Every. Above the dark lake of the past
no spire still stands. We stood at the edge and skipped stones
on the face of the waters. Smile for the optogram and give me your hand.
Characters: Alpha!Dave Strider, Alpha!Rose Lalonde
Ships: Alpha!Dave♥Alpha!Rose
Category One:
Tags Present: None
Tags Not Used: No Cat.1 tags used.
No other Cat.1 tags apply.
Category Two:
Tags Present: None
Tags Not Used: No Cat.2 tags used.
No other Cat.2 tags apply.
Additional Tags (Optional): Minor Blood used in an abstract manner
1.
All night she kept moving through
the deaths of stars, gold, black, rose,
ash in oceans, singing. Somewhere a break,
a chasm, a place always drinking up light.
She sits up with blood in her throat, each time
nearer. Sunset: eyes closed, curtains drawn.
Thirteen nights thinner she was drawn
like the bright needle of God through
whole bolts of the fabric of space and time.
A stillness, clouds of eyes. Their voices rose
and closed over her. Salt, ice, a sinking, no light.
Darkling darling, it’s your eggshell to break.
Waiting for the dream or the fever to break
he will not sleep until she wakes. He has drawn
the sheet back up all night. Flashes of light
under her eyelids. She said I broke through.
Her face holy and mad. I know. She rose
not his own, not for the last time.
She moves on the surface tension of time
like a Halobates. A skin she can’t break
but bruise. A vicious love her compass rose.
A glitter on the waters. Again the plans drawn
shatter and dissolve. Damn you, come through.
Anchor the strand, the thread on which to light.
Only their names. His voice light
as snow. As though there’s ever a time
to show a man his children run through.
Tauten the strings until they break.
Guess and bluster. She will not be drawn.
Red lightning, her daughter’s heart a wet rose.
Through the alleys the waters rose.
Wrappers, cholera, oil, reflected light.
An open sky. Sword and needles drawn
against a black hole who has outlived time.
They are two blades that will not break.
Less than twenty minutes and it’s through.
ROSE: Never world enough or time. Never. A splinter
of light that closes. The one contract we can’t break,
drawn up unconsenting. My hand, love. Lead me through.
2.
A smell of rust for miles. Iron oxides give
a look of slumgullion to the falls.
He follows, terrified, over the edge
as with perfect faith. All in white she stands
like a spear of bone on her raft. They swing past
to wrench the needles out of the dead face.
That five-card Texas hold ’em face.
Tinted windows. Interviewed, he’ll never give
the same answer twice. Gently, drifting past
the hotel balcony, a clot of pixels falls.
So really, the flight of stairs always stands
for socialism? Yes, there’s your edge.
He braces the bottle on the table’s edge
and opens a toast to her Nebula. Her face
a paper lantern at dusk. Small hours: he stands
at the black window. What he would not give.
Bitten lip, bowed head. Into the river the sleet falls.
The present eroding into the silt of the past.
Carpets congealed with sugar and mold. Once past
the sniper on the stairs, simple. He tests the edge
on his thumb, then on them. Half a President rolls, falls
and spatters below. Grease-paint has made the face
a skull already. The flag flares and catches. He will give
no quarter to the republic for which it stands.
He bought the building to ensure it stands
to inherit his son. Puppets, Fanta: long past
denying he owns little but trouble to give.
The last inhabitant, he lies near the roof’s edge,
fingers tapping, a thin sunset lining his face.
Soft tar, an eddy of feathers as night falls.
A gull hits her aura like a window and falls.
White cat, white dragon, like that dawn’s stands
of birches along I-40. Always harder to face
waiting than action. The warm wind comes past
and moves the stiff cloth at the wound’s edge.
Not the bravest nor last the world had to give.
DAVE: Every empire falls. Every. Above the dark lake of the past
no spire still stands. We stood at the edge and skipped stones
on the face of the waters. Smile for the optogram and give me your hand.
no subject
This is definitely a piece worth many, many re-reads, because there's so much depth and it's so well-crafted.