It figures that it'd take poetry to drag me back into my first fandom. Back over a year ago, Gabri told me I should compile some Luke & Mara poems together, and I thought it was an excellent idea. Of course, I only finished two (One Dance and Home) before I got stuck. However, I'm taking a Creative Writing course right now, and yesterday I just felt inspired to finish this series. Thus, "Galatea." It's blank verse, and relies much too heavily on the myth of Pygmalion for my own liking ... but hopefully Gabri will like it.


The woman is perfected.
--Sylvia Plath, "Edge"


Galatea

Sometimes I dream my heart is made of stone,
Chiseled from the hardest granite – formed
Into a flawless and unyielding soul;
A thing of strength, this lifeless core, with veins
Of ice flowing out from this callous rock
Within my chest to frigid fingertips,
Smooth marble impassive to the transient
Heat of passion and folly's fickle flings.

Untouched by human weaknesses, I am
A statue; permanent beauty etched on
A rock that will not fade, nor lose its might.

But perhaps cold stone is not the ideal
Medium – even Pygmalion preferred
Soft, temporal splendor to the sculpted
Perfection he created. For this chilled
Form cannot withstand the warmth of ardor.
Affection cannot fit inside this shell;
A heart only in name, for marble is
Too dense. Love requires a weaker home –
Capable of sagging, or ripping, or …

Breaking. A heart of stone can never cleave
In two; but neither can it skip a beat, increase
In rhythm, flood my bloodstream with fervor,
Or wonder, or mere animal alarm.
It always remains constant: cool and smooth,
Incapable of any emotions.

And so I find myself faced with a choice,
Between the imperfections of the flesh,
Or the persistent permanence of stone?

It seems to me a decision between
Capricious life or bare eternity.

FIN