VE SOFYA KOLEKCJA | TO BE A LADY

[zuziee 3219]

VE SOFYA KOLEKCJA:

Written by

LUDVIKA SOFYA LUDOVAR

On the 10th day of Gronna ag Droba of 503 E.S.

 

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IPERA

ANDRIK, do not shed tears, for I do not dwell beneath this pine tree.

The gentle breath of spring whispers through the fragrant grass,

the stars gleam brightly, and the finches' song fills the air,

yet you mourn, while my soul soars blissfully.

Go to the kind heart of my husband,

the one who contemplates when he speaks of our humility.

Tell him that my life, dedicated to both you and him,

forged my destiny, as through this mortal form,

I gained spirit, and through spirit, I found serenity.

love eternally abides.

 

LUKAS

A BLAZE alights.

A wildfire in the woods, fierce and bright.

With zeal I write, but soon I find my kindling’s plight.

like the fire that’s burnt, I’ve run out of prose,

ideas fade and inspiration slows.

Once brilliant sparks, now smolder.

But fear not, for the flame will return,

with new kindling, my spirit will churn. 

In the darkness, a spark, that you can discern,

yet here you wander while I learn.

 

KATERINE

YOU observe the carved hand with the

index finger pointing skyward.

Undoubtedly, that is the direction.

But how does one follow it?

It's good to abstain from murder and lust,

forgive, do good to others, 

and worship God without graven images.

These are external means primarily to do good to oneself.

The inner core is freedom, light, purity.

I can no longer find the goal or lose it.

 

FRANZ

AMIDST the lush, your once-vibrant blossoms are withering, lovely iris!

Yet, you remain silent,

unable to request the water you desperately crave.

You don't need words to tell us of your thirst;

it's evident to all who pass by.

They say, 'The iris needs water,'

as you continue to thirst,

yearning for a sip,

but your plea is hushed.

You can't ask for love,

and in your silent agony,

you witnessed me wither.

 

ALEKSIYA 

A HALLUCINATION, a conjuring,

the prettiest of burns proves it so. 

Or am I just pretty enough, in this passing phase? 

My temple prods,

my knuckles clam,

I dreamed vividly that night. 

You are the unsatisfiable insecurity.

Oh, these fragile days

prove to the woman it is a woman

and that the man is a man. 

 

STEFAN

SHEILDS protect the most vulnerable among us.

As metal clangs and arrows whoosh together,

I defy them with a bare chest, unflinching.

I deem it resilience,

much like how ice resists shattering,

or a blossom in a blizzard's storm.

My leathered skin may unsettle you,

for it bends, but it never fractures.

My quill, an extension of who I’ve become

and my ink, an extension of my quill. 

 

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[erictafoya 2309]

In the emptiness of his own home of Fortress Ileana, Koravia, a certain poet would still seem to hide a smile as his eyes scanned through collection of monologues - a certain intensity grew as his pupils wandered. Perhaps it was envy, or the greatest admiration, or both, or neither. . . Not even he would know the answer to this. However, he did know that he would need something big - something so big that even a thousand monologues would struggle to keep up to it. The poet sought the mountains once more. . .

[DahStalker 2856]

Silently with a palm held to her collar absently in admiration, Adela Taronitissa admired the work before her in written form. Having been fortunate enough to be exposed to such new works with her isolated nature as a hermit, the woman was greatly moved. "Oh, to be a Lady." She ushered softly to herself, moved so much so by the written script she teared up some.