I, Dementia;
I who see all your days, fleeting numbered fragments devouring you whole, my soul, my own...Consumed by time as I never shall gorge on you. Relentless hunger cast aside as I behold your mortal brilliance; fragile husk so quickly shed, but if I were to do but one of two dreadful things, could I but keep you...I know the deep hidden horror you hold of my nature, foul creature I have become centuries before your conception, your sheer warring instincts of repulsion yet raging desire. This conquers my first dilemna; I could never foist throbbing blood-bloated eternity upon you, but to never hear again your dusky laugh?
I, Transgressor;
Delving the depths of the charred arts, stole to the graveyard, sacred cradle of bones, to obtain the withered bit. Basis of my lunacy. I cannot bear an endless expase of blinding, mind numbingness without you by my side. You shall never fade, though it be at cost of your liveliness, my sleeping beauty, I, the thorny briar none shall defeat. No douse of milk from well intentioned shall reach the glorious burning token of my utmost affection. Lighting it digit by gnarled digit. I know you be the sole person to draw breath here. Charmed; my darling, I must linger forever with you. Pressing your beloved self into my frantic arms.
I, Unpardonable;
Vile thief weakened, decrepit, as lucheon for selfishness. I find no belief in gawds or daemons. Know there is nothing beyond this nowness. Sheaf of brittle twigs I have become, while you are fresh, blossoming tawny perfection, a dreamer I might kiss, but never again feel your love radiating through me. My shining one...Glowing from within, delightful silent companion; had I but the nerve to see you age and die, you might have never known immortality. Fierce reminder of my depravity, naked depths of my unfailing awfulness, my crippling greed of you has me undone, victimized by my own glaring, miserable faults.
Author notes
option: 1-a...vampire-candle
hand of glory
Old Lore:
In really old times, people whispered about the wickedness of thieves and sinning, and one popular tale/rumour was about the Hand of Glory.
It goes that a master thief carried a dead man's withered hand into the house he intends to burgle, and then lights the fingers on fire. If a finger catches fire, it means somebody is sleeping inside the house--if it doesn't, then it means they're awake. (Or there aren't enough people in the house as there are fingers, which is important and plays into how the thief is often caught at the end, by people in the house hiding or pretending to be asleep.)
Once the fingers were lit, the sleeping people were charmed, and wouldn't wake up until the flames were extinguished, which could only be done by dipping the hand into fresh milk.
A common variation on the tale is that the hand must be taken from the hand of an unborn baby. Preferably done in a graveyard, at the stroke of midnight, and without making any noise. These Hands of Glory were the best, and when lit on fire, could burn forever without being consumed, and also casting a "devil's light", which would light up the darkness, but only for the thief holding it.
2. The Hand of Glory is the dried and pickled hand of a man who has been hanged, often specified as being the left (Latin: sinister) hand, or else, if the man were hanged for murder, the hand that "did the deed."
According to old European beliefs, a candle made of the fat from a malefactor who died on the gallows, virgin wax, and Lapland sesame oil (the candle could only be put out with milk), and the hand having come from the said hanged criminal, lighted and placed in the Hand of Glory (as in a candlestick) would have rendered motionless all persons to whom it was presented. (In another version the hair of the dead man is used as a wick, also the candle is said to give light only to the holder.) The Hand of Glory also purportedly had the power to unlock any door it came across. The method of making a hand of glory is described in "Petite Albert", purportedly written by Albertus Magnus.
The legend is traceable to about 1440, but the name only dates from 1707. It was originally a name for the mandrake root (via French "mandragore" and thus, "maindegloire" - "hand of glory") that became conflated with the earlier legend. The confusion may have occurred because mandrakes are said to grow beneath the bodies of hanged criminals.
A contest entry
- Costume Party with a Twist by Riftkin.
550 points, ended May 30, 8 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Vampires! by poisonivystar4.
700 points, ended December 3, 51 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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I did not know that!
Good luck in the contest!
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This is such a satisfying read.....a kaelidoscope of mouthwatering language...a feast for the word junkie
thankyou
T
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Great
That was great. And the way u explained it at the end magnificient. I love reading ur work and i hope i get to read more. GREAT JOB!!!!!! -
You are truly a talented writer, to write something so dense and riveting.
This was both dark and beautiful, and kept me guessing, here and there. =]
Thank you for the pleasure of reading such a wonderful piece. x
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Thank You so much for the delightful praise! It is a pleasure to meet a talented writer such as yourself as well!
PEACE
Sheli
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Now this holds a lot in it. I loved everything about it. From the way you have it set up to the information in your Author's notes. Thank you poet for this in my contest.
Riftkin
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Thank You for the wonderful words and also for silver! Very cool! Thanks so much!
PEACE
Sheli
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