Poem: Hachure [Lost, Locke]
Title: Hachure
Character/s:John Locke
Rating: N/A
Spoilers: The first two seasons, I suppose
Disclaimer: I owe not a single scrap of Lost. Alas.
Luau request: For Queen demonqueen666 who requested mythology, but said that fairy tales were also acceptable.
A/N: For the lostsquee summer luau. Beta thanks to Mr. Toast; any remaining errors are solely due to my own folly. Loosely based on the fairy tale "Bluebeard".
~~~~~
Hachure
I. Toot Suite
Your story begins with a seduction.
Fairy tales always do.
The wind blew in,
lifted you up.
Questions, a proposal,
both wordless yet
easy to discern
past cacophony-
the metal whirl and shriek
surrounding you.
Clear-eyed
at the epicenter,
all you could say was yes.
Yes.
Iron ring
clattering circle of keys
was pressed into your hand.
Every item you can unfetter,
each door you can open
belongs to you,
a honeymoon gift.
Then you were left
alone.
Wobbling
But upright,
kingdom’s keys
gripped tight.
II. Chatelaine
Explorer upstanding,
Your strong limbs
mirror the green rafters of this refuge.
You were Chosen,
you were picked by hand.
Merit undeclared,
but whispered to solitary fires and stars.
Gifts wild and beautiful,
your heart mirrors the sky
ever expansive.
You believed this to be
your skeleton key -
the dance between miracle and wilderness,
black and white.
The waltz down elusive
trails led you in.
Then you stumble and bank
your knees on the root cellar door.
The ring of keys rattles.
None fit.
And suddenly you are keyless,
a superfluous Locke.
But you were Chosen,
you were picked by hand.
Determination re-kindled,
You will find a way in.
Clear mud and quest for keyholes.
III. The Rub
The bridegroom returns;
beard stained dark
to hide dark stains,
he doesn’t bother with silence
or masks any longer.
In an empty room,
in the hollowed heart of a pearl
you stand-
knees imitate water
white and black
blur at your vision’s center.
In grey is
Truth.
Release the catch
and look:
Here, there are no
hidden bodies
shoved into cupboards;
the dead are openly displayed.
Blood seeps across thresholds.
All the doors have teeth.
You open your hand
hoping to
release your map.
The iron ring remains
embedded;
its rust won’t flake away.
Crash and roar
reverberates in the jungle.
He's close, so close now.
Ground shakes;
once again
Your footing's lost
When you most need running.
~~~
Character/s:John Locke
Rating: N/A
Spoilers: The first two seasons, I suppose
Disclaimer: I owe not a single scrap of Lost. Alas.
Luau request: For Queen demonqueen666 who requested mythology, but said that fairy tales were also acceptable.
A/N: For the lostsquee summer luau. Beta thanks to Mr. Toast; any remaining errors are solely due to my own folly. Loosely based on the fairy tale "Bluebeard".
~~~~~
Hachure
I. Toot Suite
Your story begins with a seduction.
Fairy tales always do.
The wind blew in,
lifted you up.
Questions, a proposal,
both wordless yet
easy to discern
past cacophony-
the metal whirl and shriek
surrounding you.
Clear-eyed
at the epicenter,
all you could say was yes.
Yes.
Iron ring
clattering circle of keys
was pressed into your hand.
Every item you can unfetter,
each door you can open
belongs to you,
a honeymoon gift.
Then you were left
alone.
Wobbling
But upright,
kingdom’s keys
gripped tight.
II. Chatelaine
Explorer upstanding,
Your strong limbs
mirror the green rafters of this refuge.
You were Chosen,
you were picked by hand.
Merit undeclared,
but whispered to solitary fires and stars.
Gifts wild and beautiful,
your heart mirrors the sky
ever expansive.
You believed this to be
your skeleton key -
the dance between miracle and wilderness,
black and white.
The waltz down elusive
trails led you in.
Then you stumble and bank
your knees on the root cellar door.
The ring of keys rattles.
None fit.
And suddenly you are keyless,
a superfluous Locke.
But you were Chosen,
you were picked by hand.
Determination re-kindled,
You will find a way in.
Clear mud and quest for keyholes.
III. The Rub
The bridegroom returns;
beard stained dark
to hide dark stains,
he doesn’t bother with silence
or masks any longer.
In an empty room,
in the hollowed heart of a pearl
you stand-
knees imitate water
white and black
blur at your vision’s center.
In grey is
Truth.
Release the catch
and look:
Here, there are no
hidden bodies
shoved into cupboards;
the dead are openly displayed.
Blood seeps across thresholds.
All the doors have teeth.
You open your hand
hoping to
release your map.
The iron ring remains
embedded;
its rust won’t flake away.
Crash and roar
reverberates in the jungle.
He's close, so close now.
Ground shakes;
once again
Your footing's lost
When you most need running.
~~~