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The powerless

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The dream of Aurorielle

For years the fairy flew in deepest dark,
a wintry blast on high, no ground below.
She went where angels ne’er were meant to go,
and lost all hope of seeing sunlight’s spark.
When wings were wont to wilt, she fell forlorn,
her weary way through windy upward airs,
so sad and overburdened with her cares;
then suddenly were other visions born.
She thought herself inside a darkling cave
in which the fire of torches brought her light;
but here the light was darker yet than night,
illuminating things that none could save.
A mournful mordant distant ringing bell
announced she'd landed lost and lone in hell.

Although she knew that this was but a dream,
it comforted her not, for by her vow
she’d sent herself to this eternal ‘now’
until such time as God the End should deem.
How cruelly the hag had twisted care
to bait a trap that innocence had tripped;
a cold hard trap that grabbed at her and gripped,
as much as any angel e’er did bear.
How could she have been fooled in such a way?
For she had been in service to her God;
now captive where no angel ever trod,
a place that never saw the servant Fay.
Thus thinking, there before her stood the One
whose service she had set her heart upon.

“Here am I, scared;
for what I sought was this;
I brought it on myself.
Your service was my bliss;
I chose this chore,
and thought no more,
a flawed and foolish Elf;
and thus I was ensnared.”

The King of the Angels:
“Snared, trapped and caught -
but more there is to this
than ever you perceived;
I will increase your bliss.
Come now with me,
for you must see
what heeding hags achieved;
what using choice has taught.

But you should know
you fought your inner hell;
this penance did you pay
because you never fell.
You fought, you flew,
did all you knew;
but never did I say
that you should struggle so.

For you should fall
to arms that carry you.
To bear you is their care,
and that is what they do.
Since now you ail,
they’ll never fail;
do you not know that prayer
is e’er the angel’s call?”

The dread cave vanished; all at once she saw
they stood upon the island where she slept;
but this was in the spirit realm. She wept,
relieved her dreams were not for evermore.
“You fell between two streams,” her Master said.
Aurorielle could see that this was true,
yet this meant more than water, well she knew;
it signified her spirit path instead.
A moment did she try her pretty wings,
and though they were exhausted, it was clear
that flight was quite impossible in here,
a shadow of the world of living things.
She saw that this was not the solid land
through which she flew as nature's guiding hand.

“I see that these
two waters are the ways
that men and angels know;
in which they live their days.
You bring me here
to make things clear.
I fell betwixt the flow,
and linger ‘neath the trees.”

The King of the Angels:
“My pretty one,
through vows, you made a choice;
no angel ever should.
You've thus abused your voice;
‘twas made for praise,
and all your days
you served as best you could,
chose once; and you were gone.”

“The only choice
the angels ever had
was made that shining Day
we danced before You, glad;
You made us great,
though fixed our fate,
but Satan would away,
whilst others would rejoice.”

The King of the Angels:
“Indeed ‘twas so;
he took a fated third
that never shall come back
for any deed or word.
Though now in hell
they worship well
themselves, and God they lack;
you did not wish to go.

I, I alone
both heav’n and earth bestride,
and for the Father’s fame
will make mankind my bride.
Thus I may choose
my life to lose;
for others take the blame,
and all their sins atone.

You tried to be
like me in giving all;
your thought, to imitate -
but that was not your call.
Though this was love,
admired above,
it cannot be your fate;
what then befell, you’ll see.”

He waved a hand; the fairy saw a vision -
what happened after she had slept in hell;
how sadly there was nothing good to tell,
and how her love was treated with derision.
The children’s blood was mixed in Robert’s towers
in hope their given names would last all time.
The sea was meant to wash away his crime,
but someone took their bodies many hours
deep in the forest, just to give them graves.
With tears he there interred their tiny forms,
then sadly turned for home, where Robert’s storms
ruled all the realm, wherein were none but slaves.
The fairy shook with tears, and saw her care
had not saved those for whom she suffered there.

“This breaks my heart.
My suffering was for nought;
their fate was ever planned.
In dreams have I been caught;
thus harvests ail,
and crops will fail,
and hail will harm the land;
for I did not my part.”

The King of the Angels:
“You know your kind
will always serve me well,
whatever they decide;
for though the hordes of hell
may chafe in chains,
and rack their brains,
yet vain be all their pride,
for I foresee their mind.

Your lying here
upon this little isle,
although you can’t see how,
will yet reveal my guile.
I deem it so,
despite your woe,
you know enough for now.
In time, I’ll make it clear.”

“Forgive me, Lord;
how can I now resume
my swift and fertile flight,
and spare the land its doom?
I ache to fly,
I long to try
to banish all the blight,
and see the land restored!

How then can I
return from this sad world
of never-ending dreams
in which my mind was hurled?
What can replace
your former grace?
Alas! Through evil schemes,
on silent isle I lie.”

The King of the Angels:
“That cannot be.
For you have learned to choose;
if angels ever fail,
how can I then excuse?
What sees me serves,
command observes,
and verve will not avail;
so now you must be free.”

“O woe is me!
This doom I cannot bear;
Your service is my life -
how can I take the air,
to my great cost
from heaven tossed,
forever lost in strife?
And yet, Your word must be.”

Again, she saw there stood between two streams
a fertile isle, on which the woodland sighs;
but now, new thoughts arose, to her surprise,
that angels could not think, except in dreams.
A mystery; an image slowly formed.
The river showed a youth of just fourteen,
and yet a knight – the mightiest she’d seen!
A heart of purity to which she warmed.
Beside him in the water, feigning glee,
a sad man’s face all painted up in smiles,
the one who took the infants many miles
to give them quiet graves instead of sea.
She wondered what this vision might portend,
and if this dream she slept in had an end.

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