Post by McGonagallsGirl on Jan 13, 2007 20:59:48 GMT -5
Well, here's the story with this one. I was feeling poetic, but not feeling like writing poetry. I felt like writing fan fiction.
So this isn't a poem, but it has a rhythm, a cadence...and definite repetition. Also, because of the cadences it is un-beta'd. Any alterations would have changed the underlying theme, rhythm, and context.
So, it doesn't really belong in the poetry section, it's not poetry.
And I got my inspiration from a song, but did not base this fic on the song...
So, you see, it isn't a songfic, either.
I'm actually not sure what it is. If there is an existing name for it, let me know. Otherwise, please take it as art and don't be too hateful.
;D
***
By now she'll have shoved it, unceremoniously, from her mind.
And the students who had attended will have forgotten; anxious, as all graduated students are, to rid themselves of the memories of their school days.
The staff will have set it aside, not wanting to upset her. And, aside it will remain, until it finally falls off the dusty shelf of almost memory. Forgotten.
The echoes will have certainly faded from the hall, they always do.
And the evolution of the story of that night, that dance, has already gone from memory to legend. And from legend to myth. And from myth to history, and so none care to learn of it.
There is nothing to be done about that.
There will be no more nights as magical as that one was. There will be no more dances as profound. To make their friends stare, their students gape... the hall was filled with wonder. The hall was filled with love.
A shame it has so recklessly been forgotten, for theirs was a love for the ages.
And there she goes, running his school. And there they sit, learning from her. And there she goes again, trying to be brave. Gryffindor means brave.
And there he rests, selfishly. And there they go, He is history, and so none care to learn of him. And there he rests, eternally. He is cold.
At first it was all they could think of. Her friends. Her colleagues. Her students. The night she shared the most amazing dance to the most beautiful song with the most powerful wizard.
How sorry they felt for her, he was dead.
How sorry they felt for themselves, for to be near such happiness as that night had contained was to touch a bit of heaven.
And, being magicians, it was often said they would never get to heaven.
How they had cherished their little touch of heaven.
And at first it was all she could think of. Their life. Their love. Their dance.
She could feel the other's sympathy crashing down on her, and she had no use for it.
How angry she felt at them all, he was dead.
How angry she felt at herself, for surely this was her fault in some way, it must have been.
And, being herself, she was determined to make herself pay.
How else was he ever to be avenged?
There will be no more love as powerful as that one was. The Fates have already made it so.
There is nothing to be done about that.
There he rests and there she goes. And the echoes have faded from the hall. And the staff will have set it aside. And the students who attended will have forgotten. And, by now, she'll have shoved it, unceremoniously, from her mind.
No one speaks of it.
No one remembers.
The whole world has forgotten...
But I am the song. And the song remembers when...
***
So this isn't a poem, but it has a rhythm, a cadence...and definite repetition. Also, because of the cadences it is un-beta'd. Any alterations would have changed the underlying theme, rhythm, and context.
So, it doesn't really belong in the poetry section, it's not poetry.
And I got my inspiration from a song, but did not base this fic on the song...
So, you see, it isn't a songfic, either.
I'm actually not sure what it is. If there is an existing name for it, let me know. Otherwise, please take it as art and don't be too hateful.
;D
***
By now she'll have shoved it, unceremoniously, from her mind.
And the students who had attended will have forgotten; anxious, as all graduated students are, to rid themselves of the memories of their school days.
The staff will have set it aside, not wanting to upset her. And, aside it will remain, until it finally falls off the dusty shelf of almost memory. Forgotten.
The echoes will have certainly faded from the hall, they always do.
And the evolution of the story of that night, that dance, has already gone from memory to legend. And from legend to myth. And from myth to history, and so none care to learn of it.
There is nothing to be done about that.
There will be no more nights as magical as that one was. There will be no more dances as profound. To make their friends stare, their students gape... the hall was filled with wonder. The hall was filled with love.
A shame it has so recklessly been forgotten, for theirs was a love for the ages.
And there she goes, running his school. And there they sit, learning from her. And there she goes again, trying to be brave. Gryffindor means brave.
And there he rests, selfishly. And there they go, He is history, and so none care to learn of him. And there he rests, eternally. He is cold.
At first it was all they could think of. Her friends. Her colleagues. Her students. The night she shared the most amazing dance to the most beautiful song with the most powerful wizard.
How sorry they felt for her, he was dead.
How sorry they felt for themselves, for to be near such happiness as that night had contained was to touch a bit of heaven.
And, being magicians, it was often said they would never get to heaven.
How they had cherished their little touch of heaven.
And at first it was all she could think of. Their life. Their love. Their dance.
She could feel the other's sympathy crashing down on her, and she had no use for it.
How angry she felt at them all, he was dead.
How angry she felt at herself, for surely this was her fault in some way, it must have been.
And, being herself, she was determined to make herself pay.
How else was he ever to be avenged?
There will be no more love as powerful as that one was. The Fates have already made it so.
There is nothing to be done about that.
There he rests and there she goes. And the echoes have faded from the hall. And the staff will have set it aside. And the students who attended will have forgotten. And, by now, she'll have shoved it, unceremoniously, from her mind.
No one speaks of it.
No one remembers.
The whole world has forgotten...
But I am the song. And the song remembers when...
***
I was a little worried at first when people weren't commenting. Fantastic avatar, btw.
